After
by shedoc
Summary: After the battle there are choices to be made - not compliant with the end of book 7 - a what if fic. There will be original characters as main characters.
1. Chapter 1

After

Nobody thinks about 'after'. You struggle and fight and face death, and along the way you lose people and parts of yourself, and you tell yourself its because things will be better 'after'.

Life will be normal. Whatever that is. Life will be better. You'll be able to settle down and do whatever it is you couldn't do 'before' or 'during'.

Harry never expected to see 'after'. Not once he realised what he was and what would have to happen. He didn't mind. Ron and Hermione would have 'after' for him. In 17 short years of life, they were the most important people in his life and while he didn't want to die, he'd do it so they could see 'after'. He knew they wouldn't waste it. (He didn't think at all about the possibility that they might die in the final battle and miss 'after'. If he thought about that he'd never have been able to go.)

In the moments after Voldemort died, Harry was too busy looking to the living, making sure that the Death Eaters were caught, making sure that the school wouldn't fall down, to realise he'd reached 'after'. And then there was the dead to see to. He spent what felt like hours crouched beside Remus' body, grieving him and Tonk silently until Hagrid came and picked him up like a small child, walking out of the Great Hall and down to the kitchen. The elves let them in and fluttered around getting hot wet cloths and soup and toast and tea while Hagrid deposited him on a bench and standing over him until he'd cleaned his face and hands and started to eat the food put in front of him.

"I'm not one for speeches Harry," Hagrid sat opposite him with his own soup and tea, "But thank you. Thank you for not being dead."

"I'm sorry I fooled you Hagrid," Harry put his spoon down, then picked it up at the ferocious glare aimed his way by a half giant and several elves. He ate some more until they stopped glaring and the elves went back to preparing food and magicking it off to people in the castle.

"Yer had no choice, lad. Yer haven't had a choice since yer were born, now I think on it," Hagrid sighed as Harry obediently spooned up soup and dipped his toast in the bowl as well, "Well, now is yer time I reckon. You can make yer own choices."

Harry nodded, chewing on soup laden toast. This, he supposed, was part of 'after'. Choices and decisions and finding some of the things he'd lost.

"Professor Hagrid, Professor McGonagall is needing you please sir," an elf tugged at Hagrid's sleeve and the half giant picked his bowl of soup up and drank it off like it was a cup of milk.

"I'm going," Hagrid assured the elf and wiped his mouth on his hand. He stood up and looked at Harry for a long moment, then sighed.

"Take yer time, Harry. The rest of the Wizarding world can do without yer for a little while. I'll tell Ron and Hermione where you are."

"Thank you, Hagrid," Harry got up and trotted around the table to hug the half giant as fiercely as he could, and was squeezed gently in return. He sat back in his seat and watched his first friend duck out through the kitchen opening.

Once the soup and toast were finished Harry took a deep breath and stood again. He thanked the hovering elves for the meal and headed for the main hall. It was likely he'd still find the Weasley's there and he needed to pay his respects properly this time.

As he walked slowly through the corridors, he was aware of how tired he was. All he wanted to do was go back up to Gryffindor tower and sleep, even though this was no longer his place. Maybe he'd be able to get into the room of requirement and find a spare hammock, or Hermione's bag and the tent.

"… be prudent to decide now what we do with him," said a vaguely familiar voice. Tired as he was, Harry's instincts hadn't relaxed in the last hour of quiet in the kitchens. He stopped and drifted over to the wall, listening intently.

"You can't be serious about this," a woman protested, "After all he has done for us!"

"He just killed a Dark Lord," a second man spoke up, "One that he has been fighting since he was a child. Now he has come into his own. He's strong enough to take on the Ministry if he wants to, and given the way the Ministry targeted the very people he thinks of as his …"

"Now see here," the first man protested and Harry finally recognised him as Scrimgeour, "That was not…"

"Lower your voice," a fourth person snapped, and there was silence, "Now is not the time to revise history. Now is the time to decide. If Potter goes Dark, we are woefully unprepared to deal with it. The Ministry is in tatters, the population in mourning. We need to revise the courts and the legislation that was passed in the last few years. We need to decide how we will deal with Potter now."

"He's not a threat," the woman said sharply, though her voice was low, "But if you want to make him your enemy, then by all means lock him up 'just in case'."

"He wanted to be an Auror," Scrimgeour mused, "We could take him into training at once. He'd be under close supervision there, and I could make sure he was only ever partnered with experienced, right thinking folk."

Harry faded backwards silently, unwilling to listen to any more. Once he was out of earshot, he turned and ran, heading for the room of requirement. Hermione would have left the pink beaded bag there, he was sure of it, and now was the time to leave. Before anyone decided to lock him up pre-emptively, or kill him outright.

So much for choices, he mused bitterly as he ran through the already opening door. Hermione's bag came when Summoned and he put it down, fishing for his rucksack. There had been times when they'd needed to look like Muggle hikers and he had clothes, his vault key, Muggle money and hard rations in the pack. He found Ron's bag first and pulled the rations out of it as well, even as he fished for his own. A random blanket came out as well and then finally his own rucksack. He loaded in the extra food, rolled the blanket and strapped it to the pack then dropped Ron's rucksack back into Hermione's bag before heading back down the passage to Aberforth's pub.

The elder wand was a weight in his pocket as he emerged into the pub proper. As long as he had that he would be a target as well. The fireplace had coals glowing sullenly in it, so he snapped the wand and threw it on them, watching for a long moment as they flared to life in the presence of a strongly magical artefact. The flames made quick work of the wand and he nodded once, before turning and heading out into the village.

As long as he used magic, he would be a target. Harry thought about this as he walked through the alleys and back streets, avoiding the busier main shopping mall that was heaving with people despite the late hour. The wizarding world was easily swayed and if those in power thought that he was a threat they would turn the people against him quickly and comprehensively. It was one of the things he'd hated about magical society – they were so quick to judge and condemn. So quick to go from friend to foe.

So, he would stop using magic. Harry had been raised a Muggle and as much as he loved the spells and wonder of the magical world, he would be able to return to life without magic easily enough. He wouldn't go to the Dursley's of course, no help would be coming from _them_. But there was more to the Muggle world than the Dursley's, and Harry had all the time in the world to find it. And to find himself in it.

Ron and Hermione would still have their 'after'. So, would he. Hagrid had spoken about Harry not having choices before. Now was the time to start making them.

0o0o0o

Any good? Want more?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer – I should have said this before but these are not my characters or world, etc etc, no money being made, etc, etc, please don't sue.

0o0o0o0

Three weeks after walking quite literally away from magic, Harry found himself in a forest. He'd spent the last three weeks walking mostly, hitchhiking when someone would pick him up (ignoring the Hermione-voice that scolded about dangerous strangers firmly all the while) and sleeping rough to conserve his store of pounds. Forests were good – they were peaceful and pleasant enough now no one was chasing him, and no one was around to care if he slept among the bracken and ferns.

That was when he did sleep – nightmares plagued him and he woke more than once in a cold sweat. He'd get up and keep walking at that point, grateful the weather was warming up and that he was mostly by himself. Sometimes he'd see other hikers but he didn't seek their company, waving from a distance when they insisted on some form of acknowledgement.

There was an enormous thunder storm brewing. So far Harry had been lucky with the weather, the blanket he'd brought as an afterthought all he'd needed for shelter. Now it wouldn't do at all. He was trudging through the undergrowth, looking for a place where he could build some sort of shelter when he spotted the back of a large shed. Picking up his pace, because the wind was starting to really howl now, Harry hurried to see if he could find a way into the shed, preferably without causing damage so as not to get the police after him.

As he rounded the corner he came upon the owner and mentally cursed his luck, even as the older man was cursing the door that was caught in the wind and threatening to knock him over. Harry leant his strength to the struggle and between them they got the door shut and barred.

"You'd better come inside," the man shouted and gestured at the stone house nestled in a very overgrown garden only a dozen yards or so from the shed. Thunder pealed loudly enough to wake the dead as they reached the back door and barely had they stepped inside before the heavens opened and rain drenched everything with the ferocity of a fire hose. (Harry had seen Dudley turn one on at school once – it had promptly knocked his cousin over and smashed a window, for which Harry was blamed.)

"Mr Baker," Harry's host held out a hand, "Thank you.""

"Harry Potter, you're welcome," Harry shook hands politely and slipped his bag off his shoulders as lightening strobed through the window and illuminated the room briefly, "Umm… I hope I can stay until the weather clears a bit?"

"Sure," Mr Baker replied with a shrug and switched on the kitchen light, "Would be a bit surly of me to refuse, after you helped with the door."

Harry decided not to mention that 'surly' could be some people's middle name and studied his host as he pushed his bag back into a corner by the door. The man was older than he, by quite a bit, and wore a long-sleeved cotton shirt, the cuffs rolled up to his elbows and stained jeans. His arms were muscular, his boots well broken in and his sandy hair had quite a bit of sawdust in it. Mr Baker was staring at Harry as keenly as Harry was at him, but the ex-wizard took no offence and waited to be told if he could sit at the table or not. He didn't fancy standing by the door all night. The kitchen was full of wooden furniture and cabinets, and was cluttered on nearly every surface. While it wasn't dirty per say, there was a layer of dust and disarray that spoke of its owner's disinclination to clean.

"Have a seat Harry Potter," Mr Baker waved a hand at one and Harry sat down gratefully, smiling his thanks.

"I'm going to make some tea," the other man continued, "Do you want one?"

"Yes please," Harry replied, "If it's no bother."

"Wouldn't have offered if it was," was the gruff reply. There was a newspaper on the table and Harry read it upside down while his host busied himself with pot and kettle. No splashy headlines about the missing 'Boy Who Lived' or even just 'Harry Potter', not that he'd been expecting them in Muggle news. A scandal in parliament (members from the cross bench had been sleeping with each other under their spouses' noses and the author couldn't' decide what was more shocking – the adultery or that they were from opposite political parties.) Some toddler had fallen down a storm drain after a pet and had to be rescued at great expense and 'would the Council be Improving Safety of the Storm Drain Systems' – as if toddlers should be let to play down their safely. Harry nearly snorted aloud at that one. A stained mug plonked down in front of him and he jumped, blushing at the reaction.

"Thank you," he still had his manners at least. Mr Baker grunted and shoved the paper over to him, which Harry took as permission to read it. He hadn't read anything for a while now, and certainly nothing for leisure purposes, so he leaned over the pages and skimmed them quickly.

"Been living rough?" the question caught him off guard as he was glancing at the football scores and he said yes before he'd had a chance to sensor himself. He had a moment of panic, but Mr Baker was not glaring at him or spouting off about useless dole bludgers so he waited for the next question, thinking quickly to put together a good cover story. He hadn't anticipated needing one so soon, for all that he'd been walking steadily for the last three weeks.

"Doing drugs?" Mr Baker's voice was sharper now and Harry shook his head quickly, then pushed the sleeves of his jacket up and showed his arms. They were unmarked of course, and he pulled the sleeves back down when Mr Baker nodded at him, the suspicion in his eyes fading. Harry wondered if the British magical society was demanding to see each other's forearms as well – searching for those who were Marked. He pushed the thought aside impatiently. He had chosen to walk away from that world and whatever they were doing now was nothing to do with him.

"I lost my family recently," Harry offered, as it was true, "I was in boarding school and I just… walked away. I'm of age, so there was no one to stop me."

This was also true, though it left every pertinent detail out. Mr Baker nodded after a moment and glanced at the clock. Eighteen was of age in the Muggle world and Harry was close enough to that birthday now that it made no never mind.

"Supper time," his host announced, "There's a bathroom at the top of the stairs and clean towels in the cupboard beside the sink. By the time you've washed up there will be a meal ready."

Harry blinked and then nodded. He still had some clean clothes in the rucksack, so he fished them out and went upstairs obediently. The hot water was heaven, though he didn't linger. The storm was beginning to die down already and it was likely he'd be asked to go after dinner. He couldn't blame his host for that. Harry was, after all, a complete stranger and there must be something to the 'stranger danger' myth if both Hermione, his teachers at primary school and his Aunt carped on about it.

Downstairs the newspaper had been cleared from the table and two settings laid out. Dinner appeared to be beans on toast with fried eggs and bacon, which made his mouth water. Harry shoved his dirty clothes in his rucksack and refilled the tea mugs from the pot as directed. A plate was plunked onto the table in front of him and he waited for his host to sit and begin eating before starting his own meal. Living rough did not mean he had to forget his table manners.

They didn't talk during dinner and Harry cleared the table without being prompted when they'd both finished. There was detergent and a sponge on the sink, so he washed up the dinner things, as well as the plates left from earlier meals – at least two days-worth if Mr Baker was eating three meals a day. He turned from the dish rack to see Mr Baker looking at him intently.

"You'd better stay the night," Mr Baker announced suddenly, "I wouldn't feel right, sending you back out into that."

_That_ was the storm, the rain and wind still fiercely battering the garden outside the stone cottage. Thunder still cracked from time to time, but it was sparser now than it had been when they first came inside. Harry hesitated, unsure of taking charity, even though it wasn't meant as such.

"I don't want to put you out," he muttered, knowing he was being stupid – one step outside and he'd be drenched through. Mr Baker snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Believe me, lad, you won't."

"Then thank you, I'd like to stay tonight," Harry swallowed his pride. Mr Baker nodded and gestured at the table again. Harry sat and ran his fingers over the edge, nervously, then again when he felt the texture. The edge of the table had a subtle twist worked into it and he bent for a better look.

"Made that myself, I did," Mr Baker said suddenly, "As part of my journeyman work."

"You're a woodworker?" Harry asked, pulling out a drawer in the table and admiring the joinery. The corners locked together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

"A master carpenter," Mr Baker corrected. He got up and came over to Harry's side and pointed at the joins, "Not a single nail or screw in the entire table, lad. It's held together with precision joinery."

Harry looked up, which was apparently all the encouragement his host needed to launch into a thorough and detailed lecture on his work, which lasted for several hours as Harry kept coming up with questions. He wasn't humouring his host, it was a chance to learn something new, something that took skill and finesse. He hadn't learned anything new that was not related to life and death in a long time.

The next morning Mr Baker showed Harry back to the shed, and the workshop inside. Harry leant his unskilled hands to holding and lifting parts of the elaborate chest of drawers Mr Baker was working on. Mr Baker grilled him on the lecture from the night before – Harry was pleased to be able to give correct, if sometime incomplete, replies.

By the end of a week, Harry was permitted to assist with the marking out of measurements on new pieces. He'd also cleaned the house, driven from his bed post nightmares, and washed every item of clothing he owned as well as Mr Bakers'.

By the end of the month he was let to make the first cuts on a new project himself (under very close supervision). Mr Baker abruptly insisted on paying a stipend which it was understood that Harry was to put towards tools and learning materials. He'd moved on to working the garden to clear his head after a nightmare by that point, having found a garden shed on the other side of the house.

By the end of the second month Mr Baker was introducing Harry as his apprentice to a new client, and Harry finally unpacked the rucksack. The garden was mostly finished now, and he'd started running in the early mornings to clear his head instead. He'd also opened a bank account for the stipend and the rest of the money from Before. His Gringotts key sat at the bottom of the rucksack, something he would deal with some other time. There was no rush. He'd found enough of an After to let any unfinished business from Before wait.

0o0o0o

"Alright there Harry?" Ben Pond shoved Harry along the bench companionably and settled down with his pint and a packet of pork scratching's that he split open and left between them.

"That's police brutality, that is," Joe Tucker piped up from the other side of the table, as he always did when the local constable budged someone up to share a seat. No one bothered to laugh, or even roll their eyes any more. After 6 months, neither did Harry.

"Alright Ben," Harry replied, dragging the newspaper back in front of himself and filling out another crossword clue. Mr Baker sat at the bar, as he did every Sunday afternoon, talking with friends. Harry had been unsure about attending the pub when his landlord first insisted. Ben and friends had 'rescued him from the geezers' on his second visit. It was nice to talk to people his own age about things that did not relate to carpentry. As much as Harry found his apprenticeship fascinating and rewarding, he did sometimes need a break.

"And is this the week you finally have a pint?" Ben asked, peering into Harry's empty pint glass.

"Still on the lemonade," Phil muttered gloomily. Ben heaved a sigh and Harry rolled his eyes. Beer was not to his taste, so he drank lemonade instead. There was plenty of time for him to try other types of alcohol, he was only 18 after all.

"What's got into you then Phil?" Ben asked and Joe groaned. They'd only just finished the epic rant from Phil about the stupidity of his real estate clients who bought a property, got planning permission, promptly tried to ignore and/or circumvent said permission and then blamed him for selling the land in the first place.

"Quintin Price, is what got into him," Harry responded in the interest of brevity, and Phil toasted him moodily, "Prat wants to sue the agency for selling to him the property he can't build his dream home on."

"Dream home my arse. It was a brutalist block of Communistic concrete, and he knows it. He was given permission to convert the main barn on that block to a house, not knock it down and install a sub-office of the KGB," Phil growled.

"It won't go anywhere, mate," Simon joined them with a tray of drinks, which were dished out rapidly. Simon was in IT and telecommuted to his office. Harry had nodded sagely when first told that, but he'd worked out what it meant since then. The gaps in his knowledge made things interesting at times – hence the crosswords and Sunday afternoons in the pubs. He sometimes viewed it as gathering covert intelligence on the things people his age found important. Once he identified a gap he borrowed a book from the library and read up on it, which had led to his fascination with science fiction, Muggle history (some of which was half remembered from primary school and none of which revolved around endless Goblin rebellions) and, to Ben Pond's disgust, murder mysteries.

"He breached his planning permission on his own, not on your advice. Buyer beware and all that," Simon continued, sitting next to Joe, "You'll be putting a for sale sign on the gate before you know it."

"Did he actually knock the barn down?" Harry had been wondering about that ever since Phil had started complaining.

"No, he wasn't that brash," Phil sighed, "Well, I hope you're right Simon. The last thing I need is to have the boss sued out of business."

"Never happen, mate," Ben said solidly and changed the subject.

In the end, the local constable was right. The lawsuit never eventuated and Phil's agency was engaged to sell the contended property in very rapid order. Harry spotted the sign on the gate on one of his morning runs, as he headed back towards Mr Bakers' stone cottage. Winter had closed in by then and the first snow was on the ground in patches as he climbed the gate gracelessly and jogged along the curved drive.

The front of the property was heavily wooded, separated from the road by an old stone wall, with the drive winding to the left to avoid an ancient oak tree. The bare trees closed over the driveway like spindly fingers holding tightly to the leaf littered surface, only to throw themselves open into an unexpectedly large clearing.

Harry stood and stared. There were three buildings – one open sided and sagging in the roof, a medium sized barn in the rear, nestled against the forest that enclosed the property completely, and in the middle an enormous barn shaped building, standing defiant. Harry mused that if you dormered the roof you'd be able to get three stories out of that height, and that putting glass where the double height doors were would let in a ton of light and then brought himself up sharply. He wasn't in the market for a house with an attached workshop and a place to park a vehicle. He didn't even own a vehicle, though he had been learning to drive Mr Baker's delivery van.

The place felt like home though, peaceful and inviting despite the fact that the barn was in rough shape and not at all habitable. Shaking his head, Harry turned and ran lightly back down the drive, clambering over the gate and loping back to Mr Bakers'.

"You're later than usual Harry," was the greeting he got from his teacher as he stomped the snow off his shoes outside and then stepped into the laundry. The shoes were toed off and put outside the door, which he closed against the cold decisively.

"I stopped at that property up the road," Harry dragged the knitted cap he wore while running off and started pulling on his gloves, which were a bit damp and therefore clinging to his cold fingers, "I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

"And?" Mr Baker asked lightly, collecting his freshly popped toast from the toaster and carrying it to the table. Harry shrugged, padding towards the door.

"There is a barn at the back that would make a ripping workshop," he mentioned. Mr Baker hummed in reply and Harry hurried up the stairs.

Freshly showered, he was sat at the table eating his own toast when Mr Baker came in from the study where he'd been on the phone.

"That friend of yours will meet us there at nine," Mr Baker announced, "With all the details with him."

"You're never thinking of moving your workshop?" Harry was astounded. Mr Baker had mentioned several times that he liked his short commute and if the amount of sawdust (and dust in general) was anything to go by he'd been using the shed at the back as his place of business for the last 10 years.

"Never hurts to look at options," Mr Baker replied lightly, "Finish up in here and we'll have a lesson before we go. You need to practice driving in adverse conditions and it's going to snow soon."

"Smelt like it," Harry agreed and steeled himself for another harrowing lesson. While he was an amazing teacher when it came to all things wood and carpentry, as a driving instructor Mr Baker was a bit laid back, which had led to some advice arriving only after the fact. Nerves honed by years of Care of Magical Creatures lessons were standing him in good stead.

By the time they rumbled through the now open gate it was snowing heavily. Harry was relieved to put the brake on and switch off the engine. Phil was standing in the shelter of the barn, with all of the doors open to let in the light. Harry followed Mr Baker through the white drift, shaking the snow off as he stepped into the space.

The floor was brick, buckled by heavy machinery running over it, and the walls were board. The bottom of the exposed frame was oak, but higher up more modern lumber replaced it. Mr Baker had brought a torch and the beam picked out the distant joists, which were also modern lumber.

"Is it heritage listed?" Mr Baker asked Phil, who shook his head, rifling through the folder he held.

"The original barn was late Victorian, but in the 50's before the National Trust could get a look at it, the owner cut the roof off and raised it, adding the double height doors so that he could put big farm machines in. There wasn't enough of the original for the barn to be listed when he was done – even the cladding is a mix of old and new," Phil told them, "And the council have confirmed that the planning permission to convert the barn stands, provided the conversion doesn't remove the structure."

"What about the roof line," Harry asked, "Could you dormer it for more head height, do you think?"

"Maybe, if you applied to," Phil shrugged, "After Mr Tucker's failed application, the council is likely to be really picky about what you do though."

"Hmmm," Mr Baker muttered. With the four doors (one in each wall) open there was plenty of light and adding windows would make it even brighter. The barn was enormous – enough room for a large crowd. With the doors open like this you could see through to the forest outside, veiled by a curtain of snow. It was peaceful.

"Well give me the details then young man, and we'll help you close up," Mr Baker's voice brought Harry back to the here and now. Harry obediently helped Phil shut the doors while Mr Baker started and warmed the van.

"He's never thinking of moving, do you think?" Phil asked while they were wrestling with the furthest set of doors. Harry shrugged. Mr Baker had married, raised children and laid his wife to rest far too soon, all while living in the stone cottage.

"I don't pretend to know what's in his mind," he replied lightly, "Beyond the ken of us mere mortals, mate."

Phil snorted and snicked the padlock shut, leading the way back around the barn. He'd parked his car under the saggy roofed structure, so it was at least clear of snow, "I'll see you on Sunday, matey."

"Mind how you drive, Phil," Harry nodded and strode back to the van. Mr Baker was in the passenger seat and Harry bit down a sigh. For a moment he missed Mr Weasley's Ford Anglia and wondered if it was still living wild in the Forbidden Forest. He climbed into the drivers' seat though, and put the van into reverse, manoeuvring carefully so they could turn and head back down the drive.

Mr Baker didn't bring the barn up again until dinner that night. Harry spent the day making pencil boxes for their upcoming winter market stall. As the slide topped boxes were not to have any nails or other fasteners in them, they were an exercise in precision, requiring a level of concentration he hadn't anticipated. Supper was a slow cooked casserole, started at breakfast and as was their custom they ate in silence, reading at the table.

Harry washed up and then made the evening pot of tea, joining Mr Baker the table. His mentor had the file that Phil had handed over in front of him, pencil in hand. The pages inside were marked with spidery writing, made while Harry washed up.

"We're coming to the point in your apprenticeship where we need to start working on larger wooden structures," Mr Baker said without preamble, "I was thinking of looking for a contract we could take on, but this is too good an opportunity to pass up."

"You want to convert and then sell it?" Harry asked, oddly disappointed. Mr Baker hesitated and then pushed the papers aside.

"Look, son, we need to be thinking about your future here," he sighed, "You're good – good enough that once you've made your mastery you'd be able to more than make a good living in carpentry. Usually I train an apprentice and send them on their way. You however, you have a way of working that really compliments my own. In the last six months I've increased my output by a third, and that is down to you. I wasn't looking for a partner, but I think between the two of us we could really establish ourselves comfortably. The house would be a good project and, in the end, you could buy it from me. If of course, you see yourself here in the future."

"I do," Harry admitted, "I wasn't looking to learn a trade like this either, but making things … it feels good."

Which was as close as he'd come to admitting a less than peaceful past.

"You said that you walked away from school after the death of your parents," Mr Baker continued, "I'm not one to tell a man how to live his life. But you need to see to the final arrangements."

Harry nodded. He'd let the fiction of Lily and James death being recent stand. It was easier in a way to have people assume the loss was still fresh. He had no memories of them to speak of fondly, so silence was not suspicious. He should clear out the bank account at Gringotts though. It was ridiculous to have whatever money left sitting there when he had no intention of returning to that world. He could transfer the balance to his bank account here and call it his inheritance. Hopefully he'd be able to contribute something substantial to the build.

"You're right," Harry sighed, "I should go and sort out their affairs. Make sure there is nothing outstanding that needs to be taken care of."

"Go in the new year then, lad," Mr Baker reopened the folder, "There's no rush and you'll be needed for the Christmas market stall, because you are the apprentice and I have no intention of sitting in the cold for three nights. The market is on the village green, and I'll supervise from the pub."

Harry laughed and stood, bowing repeatedly as he moved around the table. He sat next to the older man and together they started panning out what they would do with the property.

0o0o0o0


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer – I should have said this before but these are not my characters or world, etc etc, no money being made, etc, etc, please don't sue.

0o0o0o0

Harry had been allowing his beard to grow in since the Battle of Hogwarts. After six months he had a close-cropped dark beard, and he'd had to buy new glasses months back, after sneezing while using the bandsaw. With his knitted cap on, scarf and lined denim jacket he looked nothing like the Boy Who Lived who had sometimes unwillingly graced the pages of the Daily Prophet. He'd caught the last train to London the night before and spent the night in an economy hotel. The plan was to see to his banking and complete several other errands today, then travel back tomorrow.

Ben Pond had told him one night over a pint that the first thing to draw someone's eye is a person who is trying to hide in a crowd. The constable had said that people who walk upright and move without hurry or additional pace were harder to pick out of a crowd than someone who was walking too fast, with their shoulders hunched and head down, or someone who made abrupt movements and changed direction constantly. Harry put this to the test, bundling his hands into his pockets and matching the strolling pace of the Tuesday morning shoppers who were moving through the alley. No one shouted or pointed, which Harry counted as a success as he walked up the steps of the bank and joined the small crowd of people walking through the just opening doors.

The interior of the bank hadn't changed – even though Harry had ridden a dragon through it. He tagged onto the end of a line, grateful for the waspish witch berating someone who had arrived after her but was in front of the line, drawing everyone's attention. He waited patiently while the sneering Goblins at their high desks dealt with the people in front of him, aware that more people had joined the lines as time went on. He didn't recognise the Goblin behind his chosen desk and handed his vault key over when the lightly bearded being barked 'next' in a sharply grumpy tone.

"I would like to close my vault," Harry said quietly, "And transfer the balance, minus suitable taxation and fees, to my Muggle account."

This got the Goblin's attention. There was no chance that the banker hadn't recognised the vault key, and therefore knew exactly who Harry was. He squinted at Harry for a long moment, then made as if to hand the key back.

"Impossible," the Goblin scoffed. Harry raised his eyebrows and made no move to retrieve the offered key.

"There is no reason for you to refuse my decision," he continued in the same quiet voice, "You cannot hold onto it. If you wish to avoid a run on the bank, you will do as I ask. Otherwise I will start shouting that you will not give me my money. You know what Wizards are like – if they think that there is a problem, they will quickly over react."

This was a strategy lifted straight from Mary Poppins, which Mr Baker had surprisingly watched at Christmas. Harry hadn't been too sure about the singing and dancing, but he'd enjoyed the twisty mind of the main character. He kept her firmly in mind as the Goblin glared at him.

"Very well," the Goblin grated, "However, you will only get the contents of this vault. You are not yet of age to access the main Family vault, and will not be until you reach 25 years of age."

"Of course," Harry replied as if he knew all about the family vault, "If you recall, it was only the vault connected to that key that I requested. Here are the details of the account the funds should be transferred to."

This got him an unpleasant look at crooked teeth as the Goblin grimaced in what Harry chose to label a smile and the Goblin stepped down from the desk, disappearing into the back rooms of the bank with the slip of paper Harry had handed over. He stuck his hands back in his pockets to avoid fidgeting nervously and counted breaths to ensure he remained calm looking. The people behind him fidgeted and complained to friends as they waited, but so were all the other customers, who evidently felt that only opening three tellers at the start of the day was insufficient service. He's heard the same in Muggle banks, an amusing notion that allowed him to while the time away patiently until the scowling Goblin returned, hauled himself back up to his desk and snatched up a quill, copying information into the ledger in front of him.

Eventually the Goblin filled a banking slip on Muggle paper, which made an odd kind of sense. You couldn't take a quill scribed strip of parchment to the Muggle world and expect a bank to accept it. The writing on the paper the Goblin shoved at him was mechanically precise, a contrast to the business card that accompanied it.

"Your slip. The funds are already in your account," the Goblin growled, "Next!"

Harry pocketed both slip and card and then stepped out of the way, nodding to the witch waiting impatiently behind him. He walked back through the Alley, pacing his fellow pedestrians carefully and keeping his movements slow and unhurried as he walked through the Leaky Cauldron and back into Muggle London. The Tube was nearby and Harry caught that, sitting next to the door and pulling the slip and the card out of his pocket. No longer surrounded by magic, he felt as if he could breathe again – even in the stuffy air of the Underground.

The card was a business card, for a law firm called Blaketon and Associates. There was an address and an appointment filled out for the January after his 25th birthday. Harry frowned over it for a moment, then put the card into his wallet, intending to burn it once he got home. The deposit slip had his name and account details on it, correctly he noted with relief, and the amount transferred from his account, showing taxation and fees on the slip. This, he very nearly dropped in shock.

The amount on the slip was well over nine hundred thousand pounds. More than enough to buy the property Mr Baker had suggested outright and pay for the materials he'd need to convert the barn, as well as pay for the trades that would do the work he couldn't. Harry stared at the slip for so long he missed his stop and had to get off and cross the platforms to get back to where he was supposed to be next, namely the architect that Mr Baker had insisted go over their rough drawn plans and convert them into an acceptable format for the council to approve once the sale had gone through.

The architect's office was part of a converted row of Georgian houses, now functioning as space for veterinarians, lawyers and other professional types. The receptionist evidently didn't think much of Harry in his casual clothes and the sour faced junior partner who came to get him appeared to share her opinion at first.

Then Harry realised the guy was annoyed he'd been assigned to a barn conversion. Apparently, country rustic was not 'his thing', and the job 'wouldn't generate the billing hours' he wanted. Harry didn't bother to reply, getting out of the uncomfortable designer chair he'd been pointed to and putting his outer jacket back on without a word. The firm had been Mr Bakers' suggestion, but Harry had spent enough of his short life feeling like he was a burden to others and wasn't going to put up with that nonsense now. Especially not as a paying customer.

The junior partner trailed him down the hallway, whining at him as he went, drawing the attention of a senior partner who popped out of his office, an aghast look on his face.

"Harry, isn't it?" he deftly got in the way, and Harry stopped in place, the only option that didn't involve knocking someone into a wall, "I'm Arnold Dale, senior here. Mr Baker is a friend Mr Heron's."

Mr Heron was the person who'd started the practice. He'd also broken a leg skiing in Italy before Christmas, which was probably why Harry had been shunted to his sour faced junior. Harry shook the hand that was being held out to him, because he didn't want to shame his mentor.

"Pleased to meet you Arnold. I'm afraid I am well past the point in my life where I stand around and let people complain that my presence is preventing someone else from doing whatever it is they want to do, so if you'll excuse me…"

The look directed over Harry's shoulder was positively poisonous. A nervous sounding gulp indicated that it had hit the mark.

"I've had a sudden cancellation," Arnold said smoothly, "So why don't you come in, I'll get Janice to bring you a cup of tea while I get the file, and I'll be with you shortly."

Harry had to admire the tact, and as he really didn't want to try and find another architect at late notice that would have Mr Baker's approval, he nodded and went into the indicated office, choosing to go stand in front of the window and watch the street. This gave the polite fiction that he was not paying attention to the stream of hissed conversation behind him, and the snapped instructions to Janice to reorganise a meeting and wipe the scowl off her face before she went in there, for heaven's sake. Harry grinned briefly and removed his jacket, dropping it across the armchair near the window. By the time Janice, her expression now professionally polite, came in with the tea the ruckus in the main office had died down. Arnold entered with a file tucked under his arm, gave her a very Significant Look and waved Harry into the chair his jacket was resting on, taking the one beside it and pouring tea into a cup on the tray. Harry accepted it, and Arnold cleared the tray to the floor before spreading the contents of the file on the low table. It contained the pictures they'd taken on Mr Bakers' old camera and the floorplan that Harry had drawn up with the measurements on it.

"Now, I've not had a chance to really look into this, so if I ask questions that seem a bit daft I hope you'll bear with me," Arnold slurped his own tea, shuffling the pictures with one hand, "Hmmm, so you want to convert it to a single dwelling? Is it listed?"

"No," Harry said, "The original owner took the roof off the Victorian barn that was there, then raised the wall heights. There isn't a lot of original timber, and what there is will need to be reworked in some areas and outright replaced in others. To be honest, I don't want it to look like a barn when we're done. I mean the outside will still be clad in wood, I was thinking larch so it would silver into the forest behind it, but beyond that, it needs to be a house."

"Hmm, that makes sense," Arnold nodded, "And we're not looking for exposed beams?"

"No thanks," Harry laughed, "But I do want to re-lay the original floor if at all possible – here," he fished out the right photo of the buckled brick floor, "It would be a pity to rip them out and throw them away."

"Rather," Arnold agreed, "I see you've done a potential floorplan, that will help. Is this height measurement accurate?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "Good enough for three floors I thought – I was planning on dormers in the attic – and we'd still have a decent height on the ceilings."

"Right then, let's get to it," Arnold got up, nearly tripped on the tea set which was rapidly shoved under the table and went to the tall desk against the wall. He switched on the screen, typed for a minute, then picked up something that looked like a pencil and started drawing on a thick pane of glass. Intrigued, Harry got up to look. The pane of glass was a computer screen, reacting to the touch of leadless pencil.

"Are you a gadget man, Harry?" Arnold asked and Harry grinned sheepishly, shrugging and sticking his hands in his jean pockets.

"I would be if I had the budget. This is your design tool?"

"Straightens my crooked lines and lets me get the proportions right," Arnold agreed, "It's not just an architects tool – people are drawing pictures on them, graphic design consultants do their sign writing and business card layouts, you could even use it for your carpentry really."

Harry watched avidly as the barn took shape. For the rest of the appointment he spent nearly as much attention on the tools used as the final design, and when he walked out of the office with the plans nearly finalised, he also had a list of the technology used to draw them.

0o0o0o0

A brief lunch at a café near the Tube station and Harry headed for his next appointment of the day, which was the specialty tool shop that Mr Baker had requested he go to collect some tools his mentor had ordered.

Because the Tube doesn't take you to the door of every location you want to go to (despite Transport for London doing their level best to make it so), Harry had a bit of a walk to Mr Bakers' preferred speciality store, taking him through a more industrial section of the city. There were mechanics and various trade shops around, including a car lot, where a glint of dark blue caught Harry's eye. It was a Land Rover, with the traditional white roof and boxy shape. While he had passed his driver's test three weeks ago, driving the van everywhere, even for groceries, was a little daunting. The smaller, more car shaped option that he was looking at now would be a good run around vehicle and the space in the back could be used for delivering smaller commissions.

From the sidewalk it looked ok, but Harry had once been treated to having Uncle Vernon read a letter from Aunt Marge aloud at breakfast, detailing the woes of Colonel Bradley who had bought a second hand car and not done well. Aunt Petunia had tutted disapprovingly the whole time, leaving Harry with the impression that second hand cars were slightly evil. Mr Weasley's Ford Anglia had certainly proved that there was more to them than meets the eye.

This one, however, looked solid from where he was standing. Which didn't mean a lot really, because he knew things that looked good weren't necessarily so. Harry was still observant of his surroundings, and he'd noticed a bunch of mechanics around the corner that he had passed on his way here, so Harry back tracked, stuck his head around the door of a shop that seemed to have the appropriate mixture of tidiness and dirt and asked if he could pay the going rate for an hour to have someone come with him to look at a car.

The manager himself agreed to go, intrigued by the offer. He made the salesperson who popped up when they walked over to the car very unhappy by immediately crawling under it and wriggling around underneath, tugging on various things. Harry listened patiently to the sales patter, climbing into the driver's seat obediently and allowing the salesperson to point out all the features. It wasn't the most modern of vehicles, given its age, and Harry popped the hood for the mechanic when directed, hopping out and going to look at the engine himself.

"It's not the original engine, not even reconditioned," the mechanic muttered, "But that may be better if you're not buying it as a collectable."

"No," Harry agreed, "I need it to be a working car, hauling heavy objects sometimes."

"It will do that," the mechanic agreed, "There is a tow bar fitted, and it's a proper job too, and this engine will pull well. I'd recommend taking it to your local and getting it over the pits, but the underneath is solid and the engine looks ok at first glance. If you test drive it, I'll come along – the noise will tell us a lot."

"I'll get one organised," Harry agreed, relieved it seemed ok so far.

"And tell him its worth at least five thousand pounds less – they're charging original prices for non-original parts."

Harry organised the test drive, with the salesperson hopping up in the back unhappily, sitting on the originally fitted bench seats which didn't have seatbelts. It was a diesel engine, and rumbled to life obediently. The mechanic grunted in approval and Harry moved the car off the lot carefully, speeding up once they were in traffic. The gears weren't too stiff, which was good as he was still a little hesitant over changes, being used to the vans tighter box. The mechanic made some friendly suggestions and after five minutes Harry was comfortably driving along.

Negotiating the price down was easier with the mechanic glaring over his shoulder and Harry authorised the funds transfer with a sense of a job well done. The mechanic arranged to be there when he picked the car up the next day, to ensure there was no swapping of tires or any other hijinks and Harry went on to his afternoon errand with a sense of accomplishment.

0o0oo0

He rumbled quietly into Mr Baker's yard the next afternoon with a sense of triumph. The long drive from London had let him really get used to the car, and the delay in picking it up had let him work on finding the required insurance. He'd also had time to make an appointment at the bank tomorrow to sort out what he was going to do with such a large sum. He'd take the car to be looked over by the village mechanic as well – she was sure to spot any potential problems.

"What's all this then?" Mr Baker came out of the workshop and squinted suspiciously at Harry, "I'm sure I didn't order a car."

Harry grinned and waved his mentor into the driver's seat.

"The inheritance was a fair bit more than I expected, sir," he said while Mr Baker did the grown up equivalent of vroom-vroom that everyone did when they got into a new car, "And it has a tow bar, so if we wanted to get a trailer, like you mentioned the other day, well now we can. We can use it for smaller deliveries too."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me lad," Mr Baker smiled kindly, "I was stirring you, is all. You got it all sorted out then?"

"Mostly," Harry nodded, "But for now I've done what was needed. Thing is, I'll be able to afford the property myself. You won't need to put anything in at all, except of course, your expertise. That I'll need lots of."

"Are you sure lad? You should put something by, in case of emergencies," Mr Baker frowned, and Harry pulled out the ATM balance he'd got at his last rest stop, handing it over for inspection. Even with his little spree in London, the balance was still over the nine hundred thousand mark.

"I've got an appointment at the bank tomorrow to talk about putting away half," he informed the gobsmacked man, "But I think I want to put the rest into the house. It's a good investment, and one day I might need a big home."

"It is a good investment," Mr Baker agreed, getting out of the car, "Well, I won't talk you out of it. A man should set up his life when he can. Did you at least remember to pick up my order?"

"Yes sir," Harry pulled the keys from the ignition and walked to the back, opening the door there. He cringed a little at the dire look Mr Baker gave him, then shrugged. Arnold's list had been very helpful when it came to purchasing the computer gear and digital camera in the back, and there was an extra set of planes, power tools and drill bits in the back, along with the chisels that had been ordered.

"Well I can't complain you're not committed to the craft," Mr Baker laughed and they started unloading the car together.

Over the next few weeks Harry set up his funds with a view to cautious and long term investment, had the car worked over by the local mechanic Suzy Peters (who would have lectured him severely about buying second hand without her approval had he not hired a 'foreign mechanic' to at least look at the superficial things), and put an offer in on the barns which was accepted.

With his newly purchased computer gear (mainly a very powerful laptop to run the graphics surface) Harry spent long evenings converting several of the designs he'd learned to hand draw into digital images, supplanted with finished product images from the digital camera. Using search engines and references from the local library he reworked Mr Bakers' website, and they saw an almost instant increase in traffic and queries for work to be done.

Arnold Dale sent through his designs, both electronically and on paper. One of the paper sets went to the council with planning permission forms, that both Harry and Mr Baker had slaved over meticulously, the other was stored carefully away. Mr Baker had contacted the Tradesman Guild regarding the conversion and had got several masters in their fields to agree to have their apprentices work on Harry's house as part of their assessment pieces. Harry was happy with this, as the work would be doubly inspected, once by the teacher and once by the building inspector who had to certify the house was up to scratch.

Once the property was purchased, Harry started making frames for windows and exterior doors, including the giant double height space that would replace the existing doors. He also spent his off hours not working with Mr Baker, carefully prising up the brick floor in the barn, wanting to preserve as many as possible for reuse. Arnold Dale had talked Harry into under floor heating, something that was big in Europe and mostly untried in Britain, which meant the bricks couldn't be reused inside. Harry had elected for polished concrete on the ground floor instead, since they would have to redo the foundations anyway, and the concrete could be laid thinly enough to get the maximum benefit. He'd also talked Harry into triple glazing and super insulating the barn, explaining that a poorly insulated area would require a pile of money to heat and cool. When Harry wasn't online maintaining the website, he was searching for contractors that had the products he needed for the still to be approved house.

He still squeezed in Sunday's at the pub though, knowing he needed a break from all things responsible now and then. Ben, it turned out, was captain of the local cricket team, and he talked Harry into joining the side as a fielder. With winter receding they were starting their practice sessions again. Harry was as good a catch as ever, and turned out to be pretty deadly with a bat as well. The sessions always ended with a pint at the pub, where Harry discovered that cider was an acceptable alcoholic substitute for beer, though he still drank less than the others.

It was busy and tiring and exhilarating all at once. He had been fortunate to befriend Mr Baker, and Ben Pond (while not Ron or Hermione by any means) was a decent bloke to knock about with. While the house was sure to be an enormous project he looked forward to the skills and techniques he was going to be learning. It might not be a life with Magic in it, but it was certainly not a substitute or second best. As choices went, walking in this direction from Hogwarts had been a good one.

0o0o0o0

"Alright there Harry?" Ben Pond shoved Harry along the bench companionably and settled down with his pint and a packet of pork scratching's that he split open and left between them. This was their habit now, and even Joe had stopped making his crack about police brutality.

"Alright Ben," Harry rescued his cider from in front of the copper, "How's the revision going?"

Ben was studying for his Sargent's exam and hating every minute of it. There was a reason, he declared loudly and at frequent intervals, he hadn't gone to Uni. The grimace he pulled in response to Harry's kindly question was one for the books, that's for sure. It was a pity Phil wasn't here, he'd started rating them on a scale, and this one was a beauty.

"How's the build?" Ben asked without elaborating further, "Didn't you have final inspection today?"

Harry beamed.

"We passed," he said quietly, "It's officially liveable."

"Congratulations," Ben crowed, "The last twelve months were worth it then."

"Yeah, now it's just building furniture, getting those refurbished couches back from the upholsterers and buying pots and pans and things," Harry shuddered. He was acquisitive when it came to gadgets, as attested by the new mobile in his pocket, however the idea of buying sheets and cushions left him cold. He'd avoided the need for curtains by building custom wooden shutters on every window, but there was only so much carpentry could do. He didn't fancy carving out knives and forks, nor did he want to sleep between two sheets of plywood as Simon had suggested once.

"Are you still planning to take boarders?" Ben asked and Harry shrugged.

"In a couple of months, maybe," he sighed, "Once I've had a chance to get things set up properly and move in myself. The garden will need a tonne of work, and Mr Baker wants to start on the small barn so we have a larger workshop. Probably best to leave it for a while, so I can get organised."

Also, he wanted to buy some books. He'd decided to split the space on the ground floor with book cases and at the moment they were quite empty. He was toying with an online spending spree once he'd bought the things he couldn't make himself. He was tired of borrowing the same books from the library to re-read (he had favourites) and he wanted to expand his history texts as well, particularly the architecture side of it.

"Only my lease ends soon," Ben continued in a deliberately casual voice and Harry realised his friend was fishing for a room to let.

"Well I dunno," he sipped his cider, "I mean, I hang out with a copper, and he has these standards…"

"Prat," Ben informed him.

"When does the lease end?" Harry asked, thinking about the bedroom furniture he needed to make for himself. The rooms were to be let unfurnished, but he needed to make his own. The master bedroom even had a private bathroom so he didn't have to share, which would be a first in his life.

"Two months' time," Ben replied, "I'd pay the going rate, of course."

"I haven't even worked out what that is, Ben," Harry laughed, "Two months it is. You can have pick of the rooms. Not the masters, though."

"Ta mate," Ben toasted him and they both looked up as the door opened and Phil and Simon came in, spotted them and headed for the bar, waving vaguely as they did. Harry looked at his friend and they chugged the dregs of their drinks in anticipation of the new rounds headed their way.

In two months, Harry had made the required furniture, purchased the required essentials by way of linen, towels and kitchen accoutrement and had even bought an enormous Union flag pillow that had pride of place in the sitting area of the barns main floor. Groceries had been got in and Mr Baker had formally kicked him out of the stone cottage. Harry had loaded his car to the roof and driven to his new home.

Mr Baker was coming for Sunday lunch, prior to the Sunday pub visit, and would be over in the morning to continue with the workshop conversion in the back barn. The extra space was coming in handy already as they'd lucked into a consignment of wood that needed storage in a dry place, the rafters of the small barn providing the perfect location. They'd also found some of the original timbers of the big barn stored there, and these were being put into storage for later use as well. Harry had had the small barns roof replaced with tile shingles when the big barn got its fancy dormered copper roof; which he was pleased to see was already developing a nice patina. The horizontally placed larch was also beginning to weather.

Putting all of his things away in his own self-made furniture, and making his own bed made the house he'd built a bit realer to Harry. He'd been moving things in, in bits and pieces, as the house was finished. The kitchen was stocked with everything he'd ever need for both cooking and consumption, and he'd got groceries in a couple of days ago. Ben was due tomorrow morning with his own furniture and things, which left Harry to make beans on toast for his first meal in his own home before retiring with a cup of tea to the area designated the television area. The refurbished-by-his-fellow-apprentices chesterfield couches had been moved in weeks ago and left to sit in place – Harry would move them around once he was sure where he wanted them. The leather club chairs he'd bought from a local estate sale were among the mix of things to align and arrange too, adding to his list. He'd built bookshelves that acted as dividers in the ground floor, and the section that was at the 'front' was split into three areas – TV, sitting (in front of the staircase) and his study. Harry had left his 'gadgets' with Mr Baker until he was in the house full time, but the TV and media players he'd delivered and left to set up tonight, as well as finally arranging his books.

Harry may well have been one of the few people to read the appliance instructions cover to cover prior to installation, but these documents were almost unintelligible. In the end he tossed them aside and experimented swapping cables around until everything was in the right hole and there was a picture with sound on the screen. Mr Baker had bought him a copy of Mary Poppins as a joke and Harry tested the connection between the media player and the TV as well, ending up watching the whole thing while he drank his cold tea. After that there were books to arrange and furniture to shift.

Boxes dragged out to the garbage, washing up done, and entertainment centre set up to his satisfaction, Harry switched off the lights downstairs and headed up the curved staircase Mr Baker had insisted he learn to make to the first floor, guided by the light from the double height glass that replaced the ridiculous barn doors. There were French doors in the centre at ground floor level, currently letting out onto a small brick patio and the quagmire that was the front garden after Harry had it dug up to lay the piping for his geothermal under floor heating. He was thinking about garden beds as he stepped into the hallway, the wooden floors that he'd laid also warmed by the underfloor heating.

The quiet of the house pressed on him for a moment, but Harry put that aside. There were people moving in over the next few weeks and this would be the only night he had the place to himself. He resolved to enjoy it while he could.

0o0o0o0

Two months later the house was practically full. In addition to Ben, there was an engaged couple who had rented two of the dormered attic spaces and the bathroom between them as they saved for their wedding and a house deposit. There were two women in the other two attic dormer rooms, sharing the other bathroom, one a vet nurse, the other a teller at the bank. The new junior vicar had moved in as well, a nice bloke called David who didn't seem to mind that the house was a shared space. They had Friday night Sport (whatever was on the telly) which became something of a tradition that involved copious snacks, friends coming over and cramming onto couches and the floor and a lot of noise. Mr Baker attended, and had his own reservation on the comfiest armchair.

Sunday was baked dinner day, since the first had been so successful. The double kitchen islands earned their keep as Harry prepped a meal for anything from eight to fifteen every Sunday. He'd installed a very large gas stove, not wanting anything that looked like Aunt Petunia's kitchen, and wrapped both the islands with planed down planking from the barns' exterior. The cabinets were made of the same material, as was the top of the dining table that everyone sat at and the tops of the benches everyone sat on. He had fitted a custom wooden door over the fridge to disguise it and over the dishwasher that he really enjoyed using, making the cabinetry seamless. The kitchen and dining area were pushed closer together as Harry had a laundry and pantry behind the kitchen back wall and a bathroom and foyer behind the dining room. The exterior wall was a series of triple glazed doors that Harry had built the frames for, and allowed a view of the back garden and forest behind it. In winter, that meant a snow-covered vista, a pleasant backdrop to their meal. In summer, it meant that side of the house would be completely open to the garden and the large bricked area outside the doors (made from more of his recycled bricks from the original barn floor).

So far, Harry had learnt to roast chickens, letting the dripping fall down onto the root vegetables below (thanks to Simon's grandmother), the traditional honey glazed ham and leg of lamb (not on the same day) and the Vicar had introduced him to the art of steaming the vegetables that weren't being roasted. Junior Vicar, as he was affectionately known, had taught Harry a couple of gravy recipes that he hadn't known and that would have had Aunt Petunia green with envy. The housemates were responsible for pudding, which was usually something from the frozen section of the local Morrison's, but as long as he didn't have to make it Harry didn't care.

Today there were only ten people, the seven housemates, Mr Baker of course, the local vet and the Vicar. Harry wiped his built-by-fellow-apprentices concrete counters down as the vegetables and meat roasted and listened to the many conversations going on around the house. This was the benefit of having such a large space, he mused.

"What say you, young Harry?" the Vicar called from where he was sitting at the dining table, a crossword being shared between him and Mr Baker who had pride of place in the chair Harry had built specially for him to sit at its head.

"Sorry, Vicar, I wasn't paying attention. What say I to what?" Harry asked, pulling out the veg that was to be steamed and starting on his prep work there.

"That front garden of yours," the Vicar gestured to the quagmire that Harry had finally managed to level out with rakes and shovels. It was a mud patch, but it was at least a tidy one, "Prime spot for some vegetables."

"Not in the front garden!" the vet called from the sitting area that looked over Harry's mud, "You want wildflowers and a meadow there."

"Actually, I am thinking of building raised beds and gravelling in between them. I probably need to install some irrigation too," Harry replied, "The back garden is a better spot for leisure and flowers and things, and for the beehives I want to get in eventually. But the front is perfect for vegetables, and I'd really like to be able to cook my own produce."

"Bees?" David asked, coming in from the TV room and accepting the knife and pile of veg to prep with good grace. That was the rule, if Harry was cooking you stayed out of the kitchen or you helped.

"Yeah," Harry grinned, "I like the idea of harvesting my own honey. And they're good for the gardens."

"Well if you do get some hives in, my parents have always had bees. I'd be happy to help teach you how to keep them. My parents might even be able to give you some lessons."

"I'll get back to you," Harry grinned, filling pots to start the water boiling and pulling out the bamboo steamers that were a house warming gift from the Vicar. He pulled out silverware and plates, stacking them on the other island, as well as glasses. He'd gotten some serving platters in the local charity shop that were unfashionable now, old and heavy but not broken, with crackling in the glaze; the meal would go on them, but the rest of the housemates would come and set the table and sort out drinks and things when the timer went off on the roast. They would put whatever frozen pies or pastries into the oven to heat while the meal was eaten, and serve up once dinner was cleared. The routine was well established.

"Well if it's advice you want, lad, you can't do better than that young Zoe Oakden at the Green Man. It's not just the local nursery – she's working with the National Trust on British biodiversity and conservation efforts. She wouldn't steer you wrong about the set up," the Vicar said and Harry smiled.

"Thanks. I'll look into it," he agreed, and bent his attention to the horseradish sauce he was making to go with the roast beef that was for dinner.

0o0o0o0


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer – I should have said this before but these are not my characters or world, etc, no money being made, etc, etc, please don't sue.

0o0o0o0

The Green Man's Nursery and Conservatory had a website that allowed you to book appointments for consultation (locally only, a notice which made Harry wonder how far away they'd had requests from). You filled out a questionnaire online and picked an appointment time and someone would come out and have a look. Harry wasn't sure what he was expecting, but the slim form in leather that purred up the driveway on a well-tuned motorbike wasn't it.

"You're drooling," Ben said helpfully from where he was unloading his groceries from the car, "Is it the bike or the girl?"

Harry had been helping him, but now he put the bag in his hands back in the boot, ignored the under-the-breath abuse coming his way and headed over to meet her. She had removed the helmet, revealing black curly hair, pulled back into a low bun and a snub nose dusted with freckles.

"Hi, Zoe Oakden," she propped the helmet on the bike and Harry shook her hand, "You wanted some advice on a vegetable patch?"

"Yeah, on the quagmire here," Harry gestured, "The barn has geothermal underfloor heating and the piping for it is buried there. It destroyed the grass though, and I'd like to grow my own produce, so …"

"Well I'm honoured to be asked," Zoe grinned and stuffed her gloves into her helmet before heading towards the front of the house, "I've been past Mr Baker's garden a fair few times and its looking amazing. He said that you were maintaining it?"

"I am," Harry acknowledged, "But that was working with what was there. Here, I am a bit stuck. I mean I know I need to establish beds and things, and I was thinking of making the beds raised, but size and soil mix and drainage… I've never set up from scratch before."

"Hmmm," Zoe had stopped at the edge of the quagmire and surveyed it carefully, "Well, you do need to ensure raised beds have adequate drainage, and given the wood on the outside of your house you want them to drain away from that… let me get my things and we'll measure and plot."

The bike had saddle bags, including a pair of ankle height wellingtons, tape measure and sketch pad, with a mechanical pencil clipped to it. Between them, they spent an hour measuring and sketching, discussing the merits of various materials to use as the sides of the garden beds and where the best and cheapest gravel could be found. Zoe recommended paving stones as well, to assist with weed control and allow the water drainage to be better directed.

Once they were done, Harry offered her a cup of tea and the muddy wellingtons were kicked off at the front door, revealing brightly coloured mismatched socks. Zoe padded over to the table and plonked herself down at the end, taking the measurements and rough sketches they'd drawn up and beginning a more professional sketch, using correct scale and marking the dimensions down accordingly.

She took her tea black with four sugars, it turned out, and Harry sat opposite, making his own suggestions as she plotted out the best layout of the beds, marking in an irrigation system that could be drained and stored for winter to prevent burst hoses and other such damage.

"I need to make a copy of this," Zoe drained her tea another hour later, "And I'll send it to you, along with the links to the builders' yards that give the best prices."

"Thank you," Harry smiled, and she grinned back. There was a knowing glint to her eyes, as well as mischief, as explained by her next remark.

"Do you want to look at the bike now?"

"Yes please!" Harry laughed, and followed her out to pore over the features and benefits of riding a motorcycle, even in cold or wet weather.

Mr Baker was not impressed when Harry bought a bike of his own a few months later, having finished establishing his garden beds and prepped them for the coming spring plant.

0o0o0o0

"You want us to bid on that?" Mr Baker asked, peering at the screen. With the small barn finally fitted out finished to his satisfaction, Mr Baker had moved some of his tools into Harry's workshop and it was there that they did the larger pieces of work, due to the floor space available. Harry had insisted that a private room with loo and handbasin be added, as well as a kitchen space where they could make tea. Mr Baker had brought his computer over, arguing that the dust wouldn't bother it, having upgraded at home to a laptop like Harry used, conceding the portability was useful when travelling to see a client.

"It's a transport museum, and they want to refit the metal stair rods to be more in line with their exhibits. I thought we could do a bus stop, with carved people on each tread, queueing up the stairs," Harry explained, "You've said I need to work on my carving skills and there are thirty rods that need encasing, including the landing."

"Hmmm," Mr Baker leaned back, "Well, you do need to work on your final assessment piece, to move up to journeyman. This would do it, providing we were successful, but it would be a lot of work, lad. And you'd need to submit an idea that was fiscally viable, as well as creative enough to get their attention. A ruddy long line of people wouldn't do it."

"It would have some surprises in there," Harry confessed and pulled out the rough sketch he'd made of the stair with figures on it, "I'd have Narnia's lamppost and Mr Tumnus, Paddington Bear, E.T., one of those aliens from Roswell, as well as ordinary people."

There were normal people too, of all sorts. Business men and women on phones, reading papers, a pregnant lady, a tourist sitting on a suitcase, men in turbans and women in hijabs, teenagers dancing to headphones, a child with a balloon, an old man with a pet carrier that had a paw swiping out of it. There was even Dennis the Menace and a suitably mysterious man in a hat and trench coat, with a tail sticking out below it. Harry's drawing skills had improved immensely over the last three years, between the graphics tablet training him in shading and texture and Mr Baxter training him in scale and accuracy.

"It _is_ doable," Mr Baker leaned over the drawings, intrigued, "It would depend on how well you do with the carving. That's a new skill for you, and not one that everyone has the talent for. We'd need to win the bid first, which will give me time to gauge your skills. You'll need to do these up properly too."

Harry grinned, and Mr Baker rolled his eyes. After almost three years as teacher and student they knew each other quite well.

"You've already got a set nearly finished on that machine of yours, haven't you?" he asked good naturedly and Harry nodded, "Well, I can't fault your enthusiasm. Alright then, let's go back to the house and you can show me the more detailed drawings. I'm not putting our name to anything that isn't up to par."

Harry had expected no less. Mr Baker was particular and for good reason. His business had a reputation for high quality work, and taking Harry on had been at risk of tarnishing that reputation. Harry had more than repaid that trust by working hard to learn the skills required, discovering a perfectionist streak in himself he hadn't expected.

"When are you seeing that young lady of yours again?" Mr Baker asked as they walked up the path to Harry's home. Harry nearly tripped over his feet at hearing Zoe labelled that way, and it took a moment for him to answer.

"Saturday," he replied, "We're riding to the coast. Should be nice weather for it."

Zoe had agreed to assist Harry in learning the skills to get his L's and then his licence for the bike, which was accomplished through paired rides at first. Once he'd gotten his licence, the habit had continued, only now they went to great houses and open gardens, or across to the larger city to see a museum or art gallery. Zoe was a regular at the Sunday dinners, preparing fresh baked deserts instead of frozen ones (the housemates had to do the washing up and kitchen tidy in lieu of supplying pudding). She had joined what was formerly the 'boys club' at the pub as well, along with Joe and Simon's girlfriends. There had been some hand holding and snogging, but to hear her called his 'young lady' was still a bit startling.

"With summer coming on, you'll be starting cricket again too?" Mr Baker went in first, as Harry held the side door open for him and went to the left, towards Harry's study.

"I'll give up the cricket if we get the job," Harry had worked out the drift of the conversation now, "But not the rides with Zoe."

"Fair enough," Mr Baker nodded, "You can always take the cricket up again next year."

0o0o0o0

The first thing Harry ever carved was Dobby. The little elf stood only a few inches high, one sock sagging on his foot, a couple of those silly knitted hats on his head, beaming up at Harry from the workbench with a book and a duster in his hands. This was Dobby from the Gryffindor common rooms, dusting late one night and happy. Harry hadn't meant to carve Dobby: Mr Baker had instructed that he take the block of wood and attempt a basic figure with it. A slip of the tools had suggested an ear, and before he knew it Harry was revealing Dobby's profile and stance. He'd worked diligently to get the image of his little friend perfect, sanding and smoothing over errors, adding wrinkles and creases in the pillow case to get it just so.

"Well," Mr Baker commented from behind Harry, breaking his startled reverie, "I guess you _do_ have a talent for carving."

"Thanks," Harry said sadly. He cleared his throat and went to get a drink of water. Dobby was gone when he returned, another block of wood in his place.

"Try for something a bit more human, lad," Mr Baker instructed, "A sitting figure this time. I want to see it marked out first."

That was surprisingly easy too, Hermione sitting with her ankles crossed and feet dangling, a book on her lap. It was easy to leave the robes off, and he didn't include the House badge on her jumper or the school badge on her tie. He did give her the prefects badge though. Ron was a natural next subject, sitting cross legged beside her, also with a book on one knee, his elbow on the other. The Head Boy badge he'd always wanted adorned Ron's jumper.

At Mr Baker's instruction, Harry refined a few of the creases in the figures clothes and gave better definition to their hair and faces. Then, Harry oiled these figures carefully, having watched Mr Baker oil Dobby as an example. They were still waiting to hear about the bid they'd put in on the staircase, but Mr Baker didn't seem too worried now. It had taken him nearly five days to produce the three small figures, and Mr Baker felt the larger ones would be easier.

"More space to get the details in," he told Harry, "Less fiddling with suggestive touches. If you can keep up the level of quality here, we'll be in good shape should we win that bid. Now, put this up lad, and spend some time outside. No brooding."

Harry took the figures to the house and put them in his study – Dobby by his set of books on joinery, Hermione and Ron together on a shelf with his antique furniture books. The vegetable garden could always use tending, so Harry went outside to do that.

After a few weeks the little figures stopped startling him, and Dobby was moved to stand in pride of place next to Harry's graphics tablet.

0o0o0o0

"How goes those poor people waiting for the bus?" Zoe asked as Harry entered her small flat. She lived above the village bookshop, something that was evidenced by the large number of books that decorated every surface and spilled out of the few bookcases she'd managed to squeeze in.

"Actually, not too bad," Harry replied, putting the cider in the fridge and kissing her cheek. They were having pasta tonight apparently, and he stirred the sauce while Zone rummaged in the tiny kitchen for plates. "We're about half way there. Mr Baker has left most of it to me, but he did request to be let to carve the child with the balloon."

"That might be his daughter, then, she did so love balloons," Zoe mused, "And that alien you were working on? Did it come out alright in the end?"

"Bloody thing was thrown out for kindling," Harry grumbled, "I'll have to start again, as they were especially enthusiastic about having the oddities included."

"Still," Zoe pulled him away from the stove and hugged him comprehensively, which Harry returned eagerly, "It's one hell of a way to graduate your apprenticeship."

"True," Harry kissed her and they let go when the timer rang to finish putting the meal together.

They ate on the couch as there was no room for a dining table, watching videos of Dr Who. Zoe was a fan and Harry had been drawn in to the series. He was planning on presenting her with a carved TARDIS, stained dark blue, with doors that opened and a figure of the Doctor inside. Tom Baker probably, ridiculous scarf and all.

"Our engaged couple have finally set a date," Harry told her as they cleaned up after dinner, "And they've put down a deposit on Mrs Windemere's old place."

"Thank god," Zoe sighed, "They were a pain in the butt."

"True," Harry grinned, "I've never seen a Vicar so relieved when they announced their plans. The atmosphere in the place was getting nasty. David's still moving into the Vicarage though. It seems the Vicar needs a bit more help than we all knew."

"You'll have an empty house at this rate," Zoe put the dried plates away, "Except for Sargent Ben. I don't think you'll ever move him out."

"Does it bother you? You've never said anything before?" Harry was startled and Zone laughed, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning into his back. He relaxed a little, enjoying the sensation.

"Of course not, dope," she scolded fondly, "Why would I mind? Are you done with that pot yet?"

"I can be," Harry gave it a final swipe and put it quickly into the drying rack. He pulled the plug on the sink, wiped his hands on the towel Zoe still held and then turned in her arms for a kiss.

Their intimate relationship had developed slowly, but it was one that Harry appreciated a lot. Not just for the sex either, but for the companionship that came with it. He'd even appreciated the 'shovel speech' from her Grandfather, who'd raised her since she was four. Graeme Oakden was a canny man, and not one to take Zoe's happiness lightly.

"The bees arrive tomorrow," Harry murmured in the aftermath. Zoe snickered, accustomed to his odd version of pillow talk. He was running his hand up and down her bare back lightly and she pressed herself closer. She was no better, coming up with random things herself now and then. It was another way they fit together, neither insisting on grand romance, preferring the simple everyday gestures instead.

"David's parents signed off on your beekeeping ability?" she asked lightly and Harry grinned at the dimly seen ceiling.

"Who knew apiarists were so particular?" he replied lightly. There were books on bees added to the 'reference' section of his ever-growing library, and he'd been startled to learn that 'Dumbledore' was a type of bee.

"You do, apparently," Zoe sounded like she was dropping off and Harry kissed her gently.

"I do now," he agreed and followed her into sleep.

0o0o0o0

Installing the people on the stairs took a week. Harry had passed his apprenticeship with the work, something he was extremely proud of, though only Zoe had any real idea of his reaction, having been with him when he took the call from Mr Baker.

While they were away, Ben was called to a family emergency, and the bank teller and vet nurse moved out to be with their boyfriend and girlfriend respectively. Zoe and her grandfather came for the grand opening which Harry hated with all his heart – he still wasn't one for being at the centre of attention.

"Do you think Ben is alright?" Zoe asked as they drove back, her grandfather opting to drive with Mr Baker instead. Ben had been gone for a fortnight by this point, and they were expecting him back soon.

"He hasn't texted or anything," Harry frowned, "Not that I'm certain he would. You know Ben, likes to pretend he's invincible or something."

"True," Zoe nodded. The village sign flashed in the headlights and she put her hand on Harry's leg, "Go around the village green, would you, and left at the church."

"Why?" Harry asked, "What are you planning?"

"Do you trust me?" Zoe laughed. Harry pretended the answer was no, but made the desired changes to the direction they were driving. Zoe directed him to a small clearing behind the church, with the stream running at the bottom of it. It was still warm enough to paddle and Zoe had apparently snuck a small picnic into the back of the car. With the last of the twilight warming them, they set off for the edge of the stream

"This was nice," Harry said, feet dangling in the water a while later, "Thank you."

"Well I figured you should have some sort of celebration for your achievement that was to your liking," Zoe laughed from where she was standing ankle deep in the water, "The look on your face, luv."

"I know," Harry groaned, "I hate being centre of attention."

"I'll remember that when we plan the wedding," Zoe waded over to him, "Did you know that in Victorian times, Leap Day was the only day a woman could propose to a man?"

"I did," Harry looked up at her. She was wearing her hair down for a change, backlit by a distant streetlight. The summer dress she was wearing had a wet hem, splashed from where she'd been wading earlier.

"So, Harry," Zoe was using her most patient tone now, laughter in the undertones of her voice, "Given that today is not February 29, and we are not in Victorian times, will you marry me?"

Even though he'd known it was coming the question was still like a hit to the chest. Of course, he wanted to marry her; she was funny and kind and shared similar interests and didn't mind when he was awkward or dorky or anything else. But if he married her, then what? Children? What if they were magical? How could he explain to her that he was a freak?

"Harry?" Zoe sounded worried now. She waded towards him and he got to his feet, panicking now at the enormity of the choices in front of him, "Harry, breathe slower, you're going to pass out."

"I want to, I…" Harry scrambled to his feet, "I…"

He hadn't run from Voldemort, but this was the most frightening thing ever, and his feet carried him across the cool grass and around the edge of the graveyard before he'd decided to even move. The door to the church was open and he pushed inside, bare feet slapping on the stone floor as he stumbled blindly along, ending up on the steps leading to the altar.

The church was quiet and cool, a sharp contrast to Harry's state of mind. The silence was welcome as well, but did not last for long as the door clunked and bare feet padded up the aisle towards him. Zoe sat next to him and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. Her arms came around him too, and he rested his head on her shoulder.

"So that was a no?" she asked lightly and Harry shuddered.

"Not a no," he rasped, "Just… not easy."

"Hmm," Zoe kissed his forehead, "This is me, Harry. Everything is easy. There is nothing you can say, short of 'I'm already married' or 'I secretly love Ben' that will make me want you less."

"Not married," Harry almost laughed, "Not in love with Ben."

"Well then," Zoe squeezed him, "Cough it up Potter."

"My family are part of a secret society," Harry sighed and shuffled closer, "One that lives side by side with ours, but totally hidden. They died when I was a baby because this man, called Tom Riddle, was trying to become immortal and wanted to encourage a sort of supremist pure blood version of the society that is already there."

"Immortal?" Zoe asked, "Seems impossible."

She was still here though, and not calling him names or questioning his sanity, and that simple fact gave him the strength to go on.

"Not if you participate in ritual murder and … do some really evil things. Somehow, I survived what he was doing – and that forever marked me as his… I dunno, greatest rival. So, I went to live with my mum's sister, who was not the nicest person ever, and eventually I went to school where my parents had. And old Tom Riddle, who wasn't as dead as everyone had previously thought, spent seven years trying to kill me. And then, in the end, after he killed a lot of people, some of whom I loved, I killed him."

Zoe held him tighter, kissing his forehead again and rocking him, and Harry realised he was crying. He hadn't cried at all, not even when sitting beside Remus and Tonks. He pushed his glasses up on his head and buried his face in his hands, letting go years of grief. Eventually he realised he was lying on Zoe's lap, her hand tightly on his shoulder, the other running through his hair.

"Sorry," he whispered and was smacked for it lightly.

"Don't be," Zoe sounded choked up too. He lay where he was for a moment, appreciating the silence and the warmth of her against him.

"So," Zoe took a hand away and wiped at her face, "What is the secret society about? Why are they secret? Or can't you tell me?"

"Magic," Harry sighed, "They do magic. Wands, flying brooms, real fairies and everything. Well, everything if you consider being stuck in the early 1800's fashion and technology wise."

"Really?" Zoe sounded startled and Harry sat up. He got to his feet and pulled Zoe to hers, drawing her over to the candles at the side of the alter.

"Ingatio," Harry held his hand over the candle and it lit obediently. Zoe drew in a startled breath but didn't let go of his hand, leaning in to look at the candle for a moment, then turning to look at him.

"Magic," she said flatly, "There is a secret society of magicians stuck in the 1800's living in secret in Britain."

"Yes, but they prefer to be called witches and wizards," Harry smiled a little and she grinned back, wrinkling her nose, "There is even a separate ruling body and laws. A statute of secrecy covers all disclosures."

"And you're breaking that? Won't you get into trouble?" Zoe frowned, then looked around as if expecting someone to appear and tell them off.

"I'm going to marry you," Harry shrugged, "Our kids could inherit my magic. Of course, I'm telling you about it."

"Wait, that was a yes," Zoe swung back to look at him. Harry blinked and realised that it was indeed a yes, "You said yes! And you said it next to an altar, so you can't take it back or you'll be smote or something!"

"Yes," Harry laughed, "It is a yes."

Further talk was difficult as Zoe wrapped her arms around him and kissed him enthusiastically. Harry was pleased to kiss her back and they stood there for quite some time until a throat was cleared at the end of the aisle.

"David!" Harry yelped as they jumped apart. The young Vicar raised his eyebrow at them, not angry, but clearly questioning their presence.

"David, Harry said yes! Sorry for the kissing," Zoe laughed and towed him towards the steps, then doubled back and blew out the candle.

"Congratulations," David smiled at them both, "But, and please don't think I'm criticising you at all, why propose in here? Neither of you have been devout attendees."

"I proposed in the stream, then Harry freaked out and came here to think," Zoe's voice was teasing, and Harry sighed. The slow grin on David's face was proof enough that he was in for some teasing.

"I'm never living this down, am I?" he asked and both his friend and fiancé shook their heads solemnly, "Fair enough."

0o0o0o0

Graeme Oakden, when he heard the news, came around to Harry's with a pair of promise rings that the family had been using for generations. Harry was honoured to wear his and Zoe had been a bit misty eyed as he'd slid hers onto her finger.

Sunday dinner was the four of them, Mr Baker included as always. The timing of the wedding was discussed, with next spring suggested by Mr Baker and accepted by Zoe. Harry didn't mind either way, as they planned to marry in the back garden and have the reception there as well. Mr Baker was proud to sit in the place of family for Harry, and Graeme agreed to give Zoe away. Harry was careful not to ask if her parents were to be invited, though they were still alive. There was time for that later.

Zoe agreed to move into the house and they spent most evenings packing and moving boxes between her tiny flat and Harry's house. He'd also moved Ben's room to the attic space, to give them a bit of privacy. Ben had finally texted to say he'd be away for another fortnight and that he needed a second room, which intrigued Harry but was not a problem. The house was empty at the moment, except for the three of them. He was in no rush to add extra people right now, that was for sure.

Harry was planning the desk he was going to build into the study for Zoe while she unpacked her professional books. With a double PhD in Botany and Horticulture by the age of fourteen, and an ever-expanding project in conservation, biodiversity and low intensity high yield farming, she had a lot of references, one which had been written by her and was bristling with notes where she disagreed with her initial conclusions. Harry kept saying that she should release a revised edition.

Already unpacked was her record collection, some of which had been inherited from Graeme. Neil Diamond was playing as Zoe unpacked and Harry sketched his ideas. She was singing along as he carefully detailed the carving that would appear to be an oak tree but was actually the support for one entire side of the desk, including a raised back that hid the pigeon holes and sloped book holder from casual view, when the lyrics she was singing caught his attention.

"Porcupine pie?" Harry laughed, coming out to where Zoe was shelving. She grinned and caught his hands, spinning him into a simple two step. Laughing, they finished the song and then Harry carefully set the record back to the start of the song to dance with her again, this time singing the words he had caught clearly.

A horn beeped outside and Zoe went to turn the record off while Harry went to see who it was. It was a delivery van from a furniture store in the next town over and they had a complete bedroom set, sized for a child in plain beech. Once the deliverymen had left Zoe and Harry stood in the newly furnished room and stared at it, and then each other.

"He needs a floor rug in here," Zoe stated, "Actually, that one from my front room would work nicely."

"I wonder if he got linens as well," Harry frowned, "ASDA is still open, I'll pop over and pick some up."

"Better not go for pink or blue, since we don't know if it is a boy or girl," Zoe mentioned as she followed him down the stairs, "Greens or yellows or purple – and patterned would be best. I have a fluffy throw rug and cushion we can add in here too. You'll need a doona and pillow, mattress protector as well."

"Got it," Harry leaned back through the door and kissed her soundly, "Have fun dragging that rug upstairs."

"Ta," Zoe laughed and shut the door behind him, standing in the glass to watch him get into his car and drive away.

Shopping for an unknown child was tricky. Fortunately, there was a green tropical leaf pattern that was sufficiently neutral, and a white sheet set to compliment it. A bundle of bedding later and Harry was trundling through the car park, still humming the song they'd been dancing to only an hour before. Ben was due in a week, which would give them time to wash the sheets and put them on the bed.

Zoe was also humming Porcupine Pie when he came through the door with his purchases.

0o0o0o0

Ben arrived in time for Sunday lunch, with a little girl on the back seat. Zoe whisked her inside for an urgent loo stop and Harry paused his prep long enough to help haul suitcases and boxes out of the car and upstairs to the new child's room.

"Her name is Lizzie," Ben said as they climbed, "She's my niece and why are we still climbing?"

"Zoe has moved in," Harry replied, "We figured some privacy was in order."

"Oh," Ben said blankly, "Do you want me to move out?"

"Don't be an ass," Harry retorted, "I'd have said so, wouldn't I?"

He opened the door to Lizzie's room and Ben dropped the things he was carrying. The addition of the bedding, rug and an armchair from Zoe's flat, covered with her fuzzy throw and matching pillow, made the room a lot warmer and inviting.

"I forgot about bedding," he said quietly, "And I know I didn't order a rug or chair."

"Bring that stuff in, would you, it's blocking the door," Harry put the bags he was carrying neatly to one side, "I need to check on dinner. Mr Baker and Graeme are coming today."

"When did Mr Oakden become Graeme?" Ben asked, shoving the box and bags in his hand into the room so Harry could get out.

"Zoe and I are getting married in spring. You'll be my best man, right?" Harry clapped him on the shoulder, meanly enjoying the gobsmacked look on his face, "I'll see you downstairs."

Lizzie was sitting at the dining table, drawing on some paper that Zoe had given her. There was a glass of milk to hand and Harry smiled when she looked up before heading for the kitchen. Zoe had turned off the music that had been playing prior to Ben's arrival and put the radio on instead.

"His niece," he muttered to Zoe who was peeling carrots. She nodded and kept peeling. They'd winkle the full story out of Ben tonight, once Lizzie was asleep.

"That pie you made yesterday, is it ready to go in once dinner is cooked?" Harry asked, returning to the spice rub he'd been mixing.

"Yes, though what it will taste like, being reheated in an oven with chicken dripping everywhere, is another matter," Zoe grinned, "Mediterranean apple pie is not a thing, young Harry."

"Maybe I should install a second oven then," Harry mused, "Those cabinets by the doors aren't in use at the moment, and then you'd have a baking oven."

"You don't have to change the house for me Harry," Zoe put the carrot down and kissed his cheek, "I'm messing with you is all."

"Hmmm," Harry replied, already calculating how he'd reconfigure what was there to put the oven in at easy standing height.

"And that's your 'yes dear' face," Zoe sighed, "Well, I'll pay half the cost, which means I get half a say in what type of oven we get."

"Yes dear," Harry grinned and was kissed again, more soundly this time, in response.

Lizzie went to bed at seven, and Ben was back downstairs by eight.

"Thank you both for decorating the room for her," he said as he joined Harry and Zoe in front of the TV. They weren't really watching; it was mostly on for noise.

"You're welcome," Zoe said solemnly, "Do you want me to go?"

Ben had always been mostly Harry's friend, though he and Zoe got along well together. Harry appreciated the gesture of giving them privacy, but Ben shook his head, waving a hand tiredly.

"No, stay," he sighed, "This is your home too now, and congratulations both of you. I thought Harry would never have the courage to ask you Zoe."

"I didn't," Harry grumbled, "She asked me."

"Ben, don't distract yourself," Zoe said mock sternly, "Tell all."

"Lizzie is, was, my sisters only child. Sarah has always been a bit selfish, and headstrong. She's a single mother, to my parents' dismay. They've been predicting disaster since the argument about her giving the baby up for adoption. It has made things difficult between them. But for whatever reason Sarah has suddenly decided that she won't have Lizzie anymore, and my parents refuse to have her as well. The first I heard of this was when children's services contacted me to see if I'd be willing to take Lizzie on. They prefer to place a child being surrendered with family if possible," Ben got it out in a rush. Zoe made a sad noise, but Harry, a child who'd been unwanted and was told so at every turn, was furious. Not with Ben, he knew his friend well enough to know that he would treat Lizzie well, but with the rest of the Pond family.

"Harry, breathe," Zoe murmured and wrapped her arms around him, "It's ok, she's here now and welcome, yes? Whatever went on before, stops here."

And that was why he loved her. She intuitively understood him and accepted his off reactions and gaps in popular culture and recent history without worrying about them too much.

"Harry?" Ben asked uncertainly, and Zoe kissed his cheek.

"He's never said it out loud, but I don't think home was a kind place," she told Ben, "He's not mad at you Ben, just the situation."

"I lived with my aunt and uncle mostly, and I was not a wanted child," Harry stared down at the polished concrete floor, "And it was made very clear to me that I was not wanted. Sorry Ben. I guess I'm a little sensitive about that sort of thing still."

"It's ok" Ben said awkwardly, "Anyway, I said I'd take her. She's not sick or anything, and she's a nice bright kid, so I don't know why the rest of the family wanted her gone, but whatever it is, it doesn't matter."

"And we'll help," Zoe said staunchly, "Right Harry?"

"Yeah, if that's ok with you Ben," Harry agreed, "You are her dad, effectively."

"I'd be grateful for the help," Ben confessed, and Harry straightened up from his angry hunch to smile at his friend. Zoe squeezed him and let go.

"I'm making tea," she announced and got up, "And there are three slices of pie left with our names on them."

"Chicken flavoured apple pie sounds really good at the moment," Harry winked at his startled friend, who played along good naturedly.

"Yeah, some chicken flavoured apple pie sounds great Zoe," he called. She made a rude gesture over her shoulder and put the kettle on.

0o0o0o0

Lizzie had arrived in early autumn, and by Christmas she had settled into the household as if she'd always been there. She was three, and so attending pre-school while Ben was at work, with Harry and Zoe listed as responsible adults that could collect her when Ben was on a late running shift.

Mr Baker's son had come home from Christmas with his wife, taking a break from the small rural hospital they worked in, in what Mr Baker described as 'deepest darkest Africa'. Harry and Mr Baker had stopped their mutual work for the duration of the visit, though Harry was continuing to work on a set of wedding bands, carved from a single piece of wood. Once the carving was finished to his standards, he planned to send them to a jeweller who would add the gold bands to them, sealing in the hair that Harry had asked Zoe to give him. He wasn't sure why he wanted a strand of each of their hair in the wedding bands, but his instincts were insisting on it and he'd given in.

The Baker family were coming for Christmas dinner, as was Zoe's grandfather, making a table of eight. Harry had decreed that they dress up a little for Christmas dinner, and Ben had promptly purchased the frilliest dress he could find for Lizzie. This was an ongoing trend, where Ben went what Harry called 'super girly' and Lizzie had to deal with the consequences. She liked dresses, but preferred things a little plainer than the frothy monstrosity Ben presented her with. Harry was reminded of Ron's dress robes, and Lizzie moaning about the frills only emphasised that memory for him. Fortunately for Lizzie, one of Zoe's employees had a mother who worked as a dressmaker on commission and she was able to do an 'emergency de-frilling' of the dress, as well as altering it to sit better on the slender child (Ben was a little hazy on sizing as well at times).

They'd set up a Christmas tree in the sitting area, overlooking Harry's now dormant and snow laden vegetable patch. Harry's gift to Zoe, the oak tree desk, had already been installed in the study, but he had tied a ribbon around the oak tree trunk leg and trailed it through the house to the tree. Zoe had talked both Ben and Harry out of purchasing a thousand gifts for Lizzie – decreeing two each, one practical and one frivolous. Ben had won the 'I'm buying her first bike for Christmas' drinking contest with Harry, who had made her a dolls house instead, complete with miniature wooden dolls and furniture.

The less-frilly dress was donned, and Zoe startled them all with an ankle length dress in dark green, leaving Harry and Ben to revise their own selection of clothes upwards into the 'smart' range. Mr Baker arrived mid-morning with his suntanned son and partner, and Graeme was not far behind. Zoe had commandeered the kitchen early to start baking her Christmas crumble in the newly installed and awkwardly named 'baking only oven', boiling the pudding she'd made earlier that year and making dumplings to go with Harry's planned turkey dinner, complete with Brussel sprouts and cranberry sauce.

The house was filled with chatter and laughter, and Zoe's smile. Harry spent a moment mentally wishing Ron and Hermione a happy Christmas, and hoping that Hagrid was enjoying himself wherever he was. So far, the choices he'd made were working out well and he was certain the half-giant would be pleased with them.

0o0o0o0

Footsteps sounded on the gravel and Harry glanced up for a second before returning his attention to the inlay that he was restoring on the travelling desk that Mr Baker had found in the bric-a-brac section of the monthly county market. This part of his training involved furniture restoration, and Harry had taken the intricately inlaid object apart carefully, after photographing it from every angle. He was working on putting it back together now, having painstakingly crafted the missing pieces he needed as well as cleaning and repairing the existing pieces.

"Hello young Harry," Graeme said, coming into the workshop, "How did the suit fitting go?"

"I picked out a suit following Zoe's very precise and exacting specifications and only after her explicit approval," Harry reported, earning a laugh from both Graeme and Mr Baker who was finishing a French polish on a commissioned piece.

"Good boy," Graeme perched on the stool near the door, the package in his hand placed on his lap.

"Thanks Graeme," Harry replied and straightened. He put the tool in his hand down and reached for a soft makeup brush to dust away a few grains of dust.

"Grandad," Graeme corrected. He'd asked Harry to call him that after the engagement, but Harry had been oddly reluctant. They'd compromised that he would wait until after the wedding, but Graeme did like to push the point now and then. With the wedding only a month away, the reminders were becoming more frequent.

"Not married yet," Harry cheeked, earning another laugh from Mr Baker. Graeme laughed too and held out the package in his hand.

"Barry our postman was trying to fit this into your mailbox," Graeme informed Harry, "I said I'd take it, I was worried he was going to cram it in. The return address is a jeweller."

Harry felt a jolt of anticipation and put the brush down, wiping his hands on a nearby cloth and hurrying to take the package.

"It's the wedding rings," he exclaimed, relieved they'd arrived in plenty of time. Zoe hadn't seen these yet, and wouldn't until the day of the wedding. She'd agreed to give Harry free reign over the rings, contributing to the cost of having his carvings mounted by the jeweller in a band of platinum, her preference over the gold Harry had first thought of. Harry had carved the rings from oak, shaping oak leaves and acorns into a continuous loop that made up the band, which was flat to avoid catching on clothing or tools. They both worked with their hands and he didn't want to injure Zoe or himself with a raised band. He'd used dental tools for the fine carvings and stained the bands dark green before sealing them, incorporating a hair from each of them into the underside. The jeweller was to line the inside of the band and the edges with platinum, making a straight edge. The rings would be thicker in width than a normal wedding ring, and slightly thicker in depth, but Harry had been determined that they would wear something he had made himself.

Mr Baker and Graeme exclaimed in awe and approval as he opened the box to check on the rings. The platinum glinted in the sunlight, and the oak itself gleamed darkly from where it was nestled in the metal.

"Harry they are beautiful," Graeme breathed, "She'll love it."

"Thanks," Harry blushed, still not used to being praised for his talents, even after years with Mr Baker, who was good at giving recognition (or approbation) when needed.

"A masterpiece, Harry," Mr Baker said gruffly, "Truly, lad."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied. Mr Baker clapped him on the shoulder, gave him a significant look and jerked his head at Graeme before excusing himself in the direct of the house.

"Subtle," Graeme shook his head, handing back the ring box, which Harry closed and put in his pocket for now, "What's all this, then?"

"I wanted to ask your opinion," Harry sighed, "Zoe hasn't mentioned inviting her parents or brother to the wedding, and I know that you raised her so you are only family member that we really want, but… I don't want her to regret not at least telling them."

"Hmmm," Graeme mused, "And you thought you'd ask me instead?"

"If you think I should raise it with her I will, Graeme," Harry shrugged, "But I value your opinion too."

"My son Bradley and his wife were … flaky," Graeme sighed, "They had Adam first of course and then two years later along came Zoe. When Adam was four and just starting the whole schooling thing Bradley and Yolanda discovered Zoe reading Adam's books. Properly reading them too, able to understand what she was looking at and follow the story and even tell you why a character did or said something. Bradley was not really interested in the business, except for the potential to grow dope, and Yolanda was only interested in 'healing herbs. So, discovering your daughter was a prodigy made things… tense. They didn't want to deal with it really. By the time Adam was six Zoe had surpassed him at school. And one day, when I was at work at the nursery and my wife had taken Zoe to a museum for a treat, Bradley and Yolanda packed up their belongings, dropped Zoe's off in our spare room along with a letter and buggered off to Wales to join a commune."

"Oh," Harry sighed, and his almost-grandfather-by-marriage nodded.

"Once a year we got a letter from them. They had another daughter together, called Zephyr, and then a further nine children between them, all with different partners. Adam was renamed 'Starshine' and I haven't heard from him at all. My wife used to write back, but when she got sick Zoe refused to do it. I certainly don't want to. I sent the death notice for Cecilia, and we haven't heard from them since. I don't think that she'll miss having them there, lad. I do think you should tell her you were worried though."

"I will," Harry promised. Graeme grinned and got up.

"I want tea, which you will provide," he announced, "And you can put those rings somewhere safe."

"Yes sir," Harry nodded and followed the other man up to the house. The ring box was tucked under Hermione's figure for safe keeping, with Dobby moved to stand watch beside her.

0o0o0o0

They had decided on a driving honeymoon, investing in bigger saddle bags and luggage racks for the motorbikes. They would marry in the morning, share lunch with their guests and then ride to the ferry, heading across to France on the last boat of the day. They were going to spend three weeks riding around Europe, spending a few days in the big cities and looking around.

That meant their wedding morning started early. Caterers turned up to start setting up as they were finishing their breakfasts and the cars and bikes had to be moved out of the carport (and the bikes loaded with luggage) to act as a serving area for the bar. Tables and chairs had to be set up, Ben and Zoe helped with that, and Harry went behind them laying tablecloths and clipping them to the table edges against the light breeze.

Graeme arrived and was horrified to find the three of them hauling chairs while Lizzie watched a cartoon on the telly and shooed them all off to wash up and get ready. Harry and Ben were wearing a rose in their buttonhole from Cecilia Oakden's garden, and Lizzie and Zoe were wearing snowdrops from Mr Baker's garden.

Zoe had selected a cream coloured linen blend suit for Harry to wear, coupled with leather brown shoes and a white shirt, but had left the choice of waistcoat to Harry. He'd chosen a blue material shot through with bronze which had spoken to him – even though Ben had questioned his taste and his sanity. Zoe had agreed without so much as blinking that it was the right choice and had then sent them home so the girls could shop for their own dresses.

Bath time with Lizzie was always an adventure and it took both Harry and Ben to get the excited child properly tubbed and dry. Lizzie was called away to have her hair done and her frock put on while Harry and Ben had their own showers and got dressed. Mr Baker appeared to deliver the snowdrops to Lizzie and Zoe while Harry and his best man went downstairs so Graeme could place the roses for them.

The county celebrant arrived, and so did David who had agreed to offer a blessing after the legal ceremony was out of the way. Mr Baker led Harry and Ben through the gathered guests to their place at the front and before he knew it, the celebrant was asking everyone to be upstanding for the bride and little Lizzie was prancing across the grass towards them, wearing a cream dress with a full skirt to her knees and a sash in the same colours as Harry's waistcoat. Her shorter brown hair was pinned to the side, with the snowdrops securely in place. She threw her arms around Harry's legs and then Ben's and consented to stand with Mr Baker while Graeme walked Zoe out of the house.

Her dress was simple. Lace over a white underdress with her shoulders bare and full skirts falling to ankle height. She wore red flat shoes, a sensible choice for an outdoors wedding, but just startling enough to appease her non-conforming streak. Her curly long hair was worn down, the sides pinned back so as not to blow into her face and she wore no veil, nor carried a bouquet.

Before he knew it, the ceremony was over, they'd signed the certificates and David had blessed them. Harry walked back down the aisle with Zoe on his arm, the ring he'd crafted warm on his finger. Well-wishers crowded around them, and things got a bit hectic for a short while.

"You look like someone has hit you in the head," Graeme informed him kindly when he finally broke through the crowd.

"Gee thanks, Grandad," Harry rolled his eyes, earning himself an enormous smile.

Their first dance as a married couple was to Porcupine Pie. When an annoying breeze came up halfway through lunch, Zoe pulled a wrap in blue and bronze out to wear over her dress. And when it was time to change and go, Harry insisted on bringing the wrap with them for the honeymoon. Years later, looking back at their honeymoon photos, there are pictures of them both wearing the wrap, either together or singly in cities all over Europe.

0o0o0o0

They had sent packages home from all over Europe during the honeymoon, packages which Ben lined up on the table neatly to await their return. The three of them agreed to wait to open them until Lizzie was feeling a bit better, the little girl having come down with a summer cold that had made her tired and more than a little grumpy.

Harry agreed to get the washing on while Zoe unpacked their clean clothes and he was heading upstairs with their empty bags when he felt a wash of magic. Frowning, because Zoe was not a witch and if Ben had any magical ability Harry was pretty sure he'd have noticed it by now, Harry left the bags on their landing and headed up to the attic. This was Ben and Lizzie's domain and one that he and Zoe did not often intrude on.

He could hear Lizzie crying from her room and Ben trying to soothe her, words of reassurance that were just the _tiniest_ bit rattled. He'd heard Ben use that voice when trying to talk Mrs Gelidly off the parapet of a bridge once. Calm and patient and implacable, but underneath worried as hell.

Harry tapped on the ajar bedroom door and pushed it open. Ben was sitting on the end of Lizzie's bed with the child in his lap, rocking her gently and rubbing her back. She was clutching his shirt and crying. Every soft toy in the room was floating. The look Ben directed over the child's head was wild, and asking for help, though he clearly expected none.

'I guess we know why her mother reacted so badly,' was Harry's first irrelevant thought. He smiled at his friend and crossed the room to squat in front of the occupants, putting his hand on her back as well.

"Oh dear," he murmured, "Not feeling too good kiddo?"

"I'm sorry. Don't send me away," she hiccupped and Harry squeezed her shoulder gently, even as Ben stammered that he would never, it was all fine.

"It is fine," Harry agreed, "But probably best not to leave them floating, hmmm?"

"I don't know how to make it stop," Lizzie sobbed, wiping her face, and Harry looked at the floating toys, gathering his concentration. It had been years since he had tried to do any sort of magic, not counting the tiny spark that lit the candle the night Zoe had proposed.

"It's a very simple spell," Harry murmured, and raised a hand, "Finite Incantatum."

There was a pause and then a brief rain of stuffed animals as the toys fell to the ground or onto the furniture below them. Lizzie gasped and clapped her hands, relief on her face. Ben gaped.

"There is a whole society of people living in the UK, and around the world for that matter, who can do magic," Harry told them both, "And there is a law that says people who can't do magic are not allowed to know about it. It's a Statute of Secrecy. But sometimes a magical child is born to a parent or parents who can't do magic – and then the parents are told a little bit about the magic world."

"You can do magic?" Ben mumbled, "Harry, that's amazing. And Lizzie is magical?"

"Yeah Ben," Harry confirmed, "But I couldn't say anything 'cos of the Statute. When she's eleven there is a school that will contact you. It will teach her to do spells and stuff."

"But if you can do magic Uncle Harry, why don't you?" Lizzie asked, and Harry smiled.

"When I left school I decided to stop," he shrugged, "It's no big deal, honey. And we can't tell anyone. It has to be a secret."

"Because of that statute?" Ben asked and Harry nodded. He patted Lizzie on the shoulder and ruffled her hair.

"Why don't you got to the bathroom and wash your face honey?" he suggested, "You'll feel a lot better."

She nodded and got down from Ben's lap. Harry waited until they could hear the water running, before looking at Ben.

"I'm not a criminal, hiding away," he told his friend firmly, knowing that the police side of Ben was wondering, "There was a war on and I left when it ended. They can't compel you to stay with them, but they can compel you to not use your magic for criminal purposes, and to keep them a secret."

"It's ok, Harry. I trust you," Ben sighed, running a hand through his hair, and Harry felt a knot of tension relax in his chest, "I can't believe my sister didn't want her because of her magic, though."

Harry shrugged non committedly. Now was not the time to bring up the Dursley's.

"Will this happen again, do you think?" Ben got up off the bed and straightened the quilt, prepping to put Lizzie to bed the way he always did.

"Probably," Harry said honestly, "Children are prone to outbursts of magic, especially when not well or feeling a strong emotion."

"Wait, does Zoe have magic?" Ben paused in his pillow arranging and Harry grinned and shook his head. Lizzie hesitated in the doorway and Harry turned and kissed her goodnight, like he would any night that he was putting her to bed. He left them to it, going back to the middle floor and retrieving the bags, putting them away on the top closet shelf.

They didn't mention it again. Harry forgot about it altogether, not even remembering to mention it to Zoe. Which is why he was grateful she had such a level head when Lizzie dropped her hot chocolate in the kitchen, splattering the mugs contents all over her leggings and breaking off the handle.

"No!" she told it even as Zoe grabbed a tea towel to mop up the mess. The handle obediently wriggled back to the mug and reattached itself. Zoe blinked, looked at Harry, who shrugged his innocence and tossed the tea towel to him.

"Come on Lizzie, let's get you changed and Uncle Harry can clean up in here while Dad makes you another hot chocolate," Zoe held her hand out and Lizzie happily skipped off with her to change.

"You said Zoe wasn't magic!" Ben hissed as he rinsed the repaired mug out, and Harry rolled his eyes from where he was mopping up chocolate.

"She isn't," Harry frowned, "That was Lizzie fixing the mug."

"So, if that was the first bit of magic she saw…." Ben started but Harry laughed and got frowned at.

"Ben, I married her. Our children are likely to inherit my magic, should we have any. It was nearly the first thing I told her," Harry tutted.

That didn't mean he wasn't, deep down where no one would ever know about it, really relieved and pleased that Zoe had taken Lizzie's little spell very much in her stride. Because if they ever had children of their own, the whole 'baby is making teddy fly' scenario would not put too much strain on their marriage.

0o0o0o0


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer – I should have said this before but these are not my characters or world, etc, no money being made, etc, etc, please don't sue.

0o0o0o0

There was the sound of a key in the lock and both Harry and Zoe looked up from their books, watching to see who it was, though the number of people who had keys to the house were small.

Ben entered, looking grim and over tired and Harry kissed Zoe on the cheek and got up to meet his friend.

"Lizzie is asleep," Harry told him, "I'll heat your dinner up while you look in on her if you like."

"I'd marry you if you weren't already taken," Ben smiled, though there was little humour in it.

"I'm up for a threesome," Zoe called from the couch and won a short chuckle before Ben mounted the stairs. Harry shared a look with his wife and sighed as he started the microwave. The house wasn't usually locked up like this, but violent death had visited the village and until the crime was solved, people were taking more precautions. Mr Baker, or Paddy as he was now affectionately known, called Harry once he got home safely in the evening and Zoe or Harry called Graeme before they went to bed to ensure he was still ok as well.

The microwave dinged and Harry pulled the plate out, carrying it with cutlery to the table. Ben came down the stairs and got himself a drink of water before sitting at the table with a sigh.

"Alright, mate?" Harry asked sympathetically and got an apathetic nod. Division had sent a detective sergeant to the village to investigate, however the man was very condescending about the rural area and had made more than one gaffe – half the village was convinced he was an idiot and the other half had an even lower opinion of him. This left Ben in a bad position as he tried to get the information needed to catch the killer while working to keep people calm.

This meant that Lizzie was not seeing a lot of her dad – a name she had christened Ben with just before Harry's wedding and used without thought now. Harry and Zoe had agreed to take over the full load of parenting for the little girl while Ben was called away to investigate as his hours had become very unpredictable and quite long each day.

Zoe said it was good training for when they had one of their own, a sentiment that Harry quietly agreed with.

The landline rang and Zoe got up to answer it, waving Harry to stay with Ben. Harry talked while his friend ate, telling him about the things Lizzie had said and done. In the background, Zoe answered the phone and the tone of her voice drew both men's attention. She was headed towards them with the cordless phone, something in her expression chilling them both.

"Grandad saw someone in his garden," Zoe said breathlessly, "He called the station and Constable Peterson agreed to come have a look. He can see the police car, but not the Constable."

"I'm on my way, stay on the phone with him," Ben jumped up, and Harry went with him, knowing that sending only one person was a fool's game.

"Zoe, call my mobile," Harry grabbed it from the charger and ran out a step behind Ben, who gave him a long look but didn't say anything as he settled into the passenger seat. Zoe called and Harry answered, keeping the phone to his ear as Ben peeled out of the driveway and called for a response from Constable Peters. After five minutes, that changed to a call for back up from the division headquarters along with an ambulance.

Constable Peterson was not far from the car. He was quite dead. Harry stayed with Ben while he cleared the area, ensuring his friend was not the next victim and then went in to Graeme when the called for backup arrived. Graeme was packing a bag, his eyes quite bleak. Harry reassured Zoe that they would be home soon and then called for a taxi to take them back to the barn.

"If I hadn't called him…" Graeme sighed and Harry shook his head, interrupting the older man firmly.

"You could be dead instead Grandad," Harry said quietly, "Thinking like that will get you nowhere. It's a circular trap that leads to pain and despair."

He'd certainly learned that the hard way himself and while he'd never explained any of his history to Graeme the older man had been supportive of him whenever he'd had what Zoe called a 'moment', trapped in the past by his regrets and memories. The quiet authority in his voice reached the older man now and Graeme nodded, squaring his shoulders and closing the bag.

There was a knock at the door, which was Ben, also looking grim.

"Graeme, your taxi is here. We'll be sending someone behind you to get a statement. The whole garden is a crime scene, so it will be a while until you can come back."

"I'm coming to Zoe and Harry's," Graeme nodded, "Zoe insisted."

"So do I," Harry took the bag from his Grandad, "You may never move out again."

The 'threat' won a rueful laugh and they walked quickly through the house, making sure it was shut up properly. Harry didn't relax until they were safely home again.

0o0o0o0

"Benjamin Parker killed his mother?" Zoe blinked in astonishment at Ben, who nodded sadly, "But she was a harmless, sweet old lady. She barely had two pennies to rub together, but she never complained about it. Half of my staff do her gardening and I know for a fact that there are other people in the village who turn out to help with cleaning in the house and running errands for her."

"Apparently she was married to a man who made a small fortune in a less than legal manner. When he died the money went into a trust for her, and then Benjamin would get it when she passed away. She refused to touch it though and the payments from the trust went to a charity in Britain that supports victims of violent crime. Benjamin apparently objected to this and was trying to get the money himself. When he couldn't break the trust legally, he decided to remove his mother from the picture," Ben shook his head, "It's a complete mess."

"Why did he attack Constable Peterson?" Graeme asked from where he was gathered at the table with them all. Harry was wondering this too.

"He didn't," Ben replied, "When the Constable was attacked, Benjamin was in London, locked up for drunk and disorderly after a footy match he'd attended. He couldn't have hurt poor Peter."

Peter Peterson had borne a lot of teasing about his name, but he'd been a good kid, fresh out of probation and taking a keen interest in his first posting and the people he was policing. Everyone had liked him; he'd even been around to the Sunday dinners that Harry still hosted. With his death a contingent of Scotland Yard detectives had descended on the village, sending the 'idiot from division' back to his Inspector with a very bad report of his investigation. Ben had fared better, as it was his work that had put them onto Benjamin Parker and his murderous ways. In the week since Mrs Parker's death a lot had happened to their usually quiet village.

"So, you're still looking for Peter's killers?" Zoe sighed, "His poor mother."

"We are," Ben confirmed, "But there are some leads on that too. We'll have to be patient. And not a word about Parker, please. I'm not supposed to talk about it."

"We won't," Zoe murmured, then raised her voice, "And what are you doing up, young lady?"

Lizzie hesitated on the bottom step, her bare feet poking out from under the hem of her nightie.

"I wanted to say goodnight to dad," she hopped off the bottom step and pattered across to give Ben a hug. Ben gave in to the shameless play for attention, as he hadn't had a lot of time with her this week at all. He hauled her up into his arms, getting up off the bench as well.

"I'll read you a story and then you'll go back to sleep, that's an order," he hugged her close and then headed for the stairs. Graeme sighed and got up too, stretching his back and reaching for the empty mugs.

"While I am enjoying my visit," he smiled at them both, "I am also looking forward to getting back to the house."

"Hear that Harry, our hospitality is lacking," Zoe laughed, "I told you we should be serving breakfast in bed."

"Tomorrow," Harry nodded semi jokingly. Zoe would likely bung a slice of toast and cup of tea on a tray and take it upstairs tomorrow, if only to make Graeme laugh. Peter's death still worried at him.

As it was, they didn't get a chance to play their practical joke as there was a knock on the front door early next morning as the household was just beginning to stir. There were police cars in the drive, and Harry hurried down to answer the door while Zoe went upstairs to wake Ben.

Graeme was coming down the stairs as Harry led the two Scotland Yard inspectors in and was startled to discover that it was him they were coming to see.

"Inspector Rogers and Inspector Bellings, what can I do for you?" he asked, glancing hopefully at the kettle as he did. Harry promptly switched it on and started pulling out mugs for tea.

"We were wanting to ask you about some antiques in your house," Bellings informed Graeme, who waved them to a seat at the table as Ben and Zoe joined them downstairs. There were several pieces of furniture in Graeme's house that qualified as antiques simply because they'd come with the house several generations ago and had been taken care of. Harry had polished and restored several tables, a desk, three chairs and a rather fine dresser over the years at Graeme's request and under Paddy's strict supervision.

"Which ones?" Graeme asked as Harry and Zoe began ferrying mugs and the over large family teapot that they had bought on their honeymoon to the table. Bellings and Rogers both looked grateful for the mugs of tea shoved in their direction and Ben settled with his with a frown.

"The Purdy's," Bellings replied.

"The guns?" Zoe sounded startled, and so was Harry. He hadn't known that Graeme kept guns, "But they were decommissioned ages ago, weren't they? You had a gunsmith remove the firing pins, or whatever shotguns have that makes them go bang."

"I did indeed," Graeme nodded, "They were given to my grandfather as a gift. The family history says that the Earl who gave him the land had a rival in the area who liked to make a point of … well, everything really. When my grandfather received the land and the cottage from the Earl, Lord Bessington sent the shotguns as a gift as well. They're very fine examples apparently, and my Grandfather and Father both used them for hunting. I took them to London when I inherited them. There's a gunsmith in Chelsea that decommissioned them for me – I have all the paperwork for it – and every other year I take them back to be cleaned and cared for. We may not be shooters ourselves, but I don't want them rusting away. I keep them locked up and out of sight. There's no ammunition in the house, and the bits that were removed are locked away separately in the family safe."

"Have you ever shown them to anyone?" Rogers asked and Graeme shook his head. Harry could vouch for that; he hadn't even known they existed.

"I took them to be cleaned and serviced while Harry and Zoe were on their honeymoon, but the only people who saw them were at the gunsmiths. I recall there was someone a few years ago rather interested in purchasing them, but I couldn't sell them. They're part of the family history," Graeme shrugged, "They'll come to Zoe one day. Should she want to sell them, that is of course her decision. As to how valuable they are, I couldn't tell you."

"A matched set like that, in such exceptional condition, would come to about fifty thousand pounds," Rogers informed them, "Even decommissioned as they are – because you still have the parts. And the case you carry them in is original and in immaculate condition too. It seems that your prowler was after the guns. Constable Peterson knew him, unfortunately, and was therefore killed in an effort to keep your prowler's identity secret."

"But how do you know that?" Zoe frowned, "Have you caught him?"

"Last night," Bellings nodded, "He came back for another go. He's not local, so he wasn't aware that you were out of your house until last night Mr Oakden. We caught him in the act."

Ben was frowning pretty fiercely, and Harry sighed, wondering why his friend hadn't been included in the arrest. Rogers, who was apparently more empathic than Harry had previously given him credit for, turned to Ben and raised a placating hand.

"We haven't excluded you Sargent, at least not on purpose. I recognised a face on the street last night from London and we set up a watch quietly. I may have been wrong, after all, so there was no need to call you in. We arrested him in the middle of the night and Bellings and I are more than capable of running an interview," he informed Ben, who nodded politely.

"We'll need to see the paperwork on the guns, Mr Oakden," Bellings said, "And information on the gunsmith who does the maintenance for you."

"Of course," Graeme nodded, "I'll get dressed and fetch it straight away."

"Have breakfast first, sir," Rogers grinned, "Bellings and I intend to go eat and wash up first if you don't mind. It's been a long night. If you come to the house at nine, we'll meet you there."

Harry got up to start breakfast for the household and Ben showed his colleagues out.

"Thank god that's all over," Zoe muttered as she cleared Bellings and Rogers mugs to the sinks. Harry nodded and pulled her in for a kiss. The whole village had been on edge, not just the members of his chosen family. It would be great to see things return to normal now.

0o0o0o0

Although Harry was no longer ranked as an apprentice, Paddy still outranked him in their craft, which meant that Paddy continued to supervise the winter markets from the pub. Harry was working on his final masters' piece now, but he had a feeling that Paddy would always be able to claim superiority due to age and that meant the winter markets would always be Harry's responsibility. The summer markets were Paddy's duty, though Harry often helped out there as well – at least it was warm then.

He didn't mind. Over the years he'd gotten to know a lot of people who he wouldn't usually meet in the course of his life. His pencil cases – the wooden boxes with a sliding lid that he assembled without screws and nails – had become a sought-after commodity for families with children starting kindergarten, and stocking fillers at Christmas. Every year the village market attracted tourists and visitors from all over the county. They'd even had a few overseas visitors come through as well.

Which was why he was so startled when he looked up from selling one of the travelling desks that he based on the one he'd restored a few years ago to see Dudley Dursley staring at him from where he stood by the quilt stand. Dudley was still a bit big, but he'd trimmed down a lot from the small whale he'd been as a child. He was wearing sensible clothing, good quality but not the poorly maintained designer gear he'd insisted on as a teen. The expression on his face was that of a man who had seen a ghost and Harry was really hoping he didn't start shouting about magic or the usual epithets that had come Harry's way.

Instead Dudley hurried over towards him, coming around behind the stall and engulfed Harry in an enormous (and unprecedented) hug. Harry had become accustomed to hugs a little at Hogwarts, Hermione had been a hugger and Ron would throw an arm around his shoulders now and then, but Zoe had taught him the power of a good hug when they'd gotten together. So, it was sort of a reflex to put his arms around Dudley's shoulders and hug back.

"I thought you were dead," Dudley muttered, "I was so sure we'd never see you alive again. _They_ didn't care of course but … I am so sorry Harry."

"It's ok," was Harry's stunned response and then he tightened his grip, "Dudley, it's ok. You were still a kid…"

"So were _you_," Dudley replied. He was starting to sound distraught, which Harry didn't want at all, "And I was so awful back then."

"It's ok Dudders," Harry sighed, "Neither one of us was equipped to deal with everything that went on. Even your parents weren't really."

"Are you ok though?" Dudley drew back and looked at Harry closely, "Really ok?"

"Yeah," Harry grinned, "Really ok. I'm learning a great trade, I married a wonderful lady, we have our first baby on the way. Life is peaceful."

Dudley grinned, not the usual malice filled grin Harry was used to seeing directed at him either.

"That's so good," he sighed.

"Tea," Zoe's voice sounded behind them, and Harry turned to see her standing behind them, two steaming cups of tea in her hand. He grinned at her and reached out a hand for one of the cups.

"Zoe this is my cousin Dudley, Dudley this is Zoe Potter."

"Hi Dudley," Zoe held out a hand to shake, a bit of reserve in her eyes. Harry had never really come out and said the Dursley's were bad at raising kids, but certainly there was enough unsaid for her to pick up on.

"Hi Zoe," Dudley shook her hand carefully. Like she'd snap if he touched her too roughly. Harry grinned: she was the least breakable person he'd ever met. Not that he didn't take care of her whenever he could – it was just that she took equal care of him. Now she slotted herself against his side effortlessly, a warm and welcome reminder of the life that they had built together.

"So, what are you doing now, Dudley?" Harry asked, cradling the tea between cold hands. There was a lull in customers at the moment – most people were also seeking refreshment at this point.

"I went to Uni and got my teachers degree," Dudley grinned, "Secondary school of all things. I also did a psychology degree and work in counselling. I met my fiancé through work – she's a social worker. She's over there looking at the quilts, but to be honest I was looking for a distraction when I saw your stall, and then you Harry."

"Not a fan of textiles?" Zoe smiled and Dudley shook his head ruefully.

"I don't know, I think the flock of birds pattern this year is particularly striking," Harry teased and Dudley's eyes bugged at him for a moment before his cousin laughed.

"And your parents are well?" Zoe continued the polite conversation effortlessly. Dudley put his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

"Well enough," he hedged, "They don't have a lot to do with me to be honest. We fell out over me not joining Gunning's with dad, and they don't like Patrice much either. Think she's a bit of a hippy to be honest."

"I _am_ a bit of a hippy to be honest," said a cheerful voice behind him and Harry did his best not to gawp at the purple haired, nose pierced plump lady that came up to Dudley and stuck a hand in his pocket. Her other was occupied with a bulging bag from which a quilt peeked out.

"Nothing wrong with that," Zoe enjoined and the two women grinned at each other.

"Have you got some paper in that bag?" Dudley asked Patrice, "I want to give Harry my details. We should stay in touch."

"I'd like that," Harry grinned and put his tea down. There were business cards on the table and he picked one up, handing it to Patrice with a wink, "He was forever losing stuff when we were kids, so hang onto this, yeah?"

"Oh god, he hasn't got any better," Patrice laughed, "He lost the house keys the other day – turned the place upside down for hours, turned out they were in the door all the time!"

Dudley blushed, but didn't dispute the claim, giving a shamefaced grin instead. Zoe laughed as well, waved to them both and headed back to her own stall.

"I'll see you around Dudley," Harry promised, and his cousin looked relieved. They'd probably never be best friends, but Harry was in a place now where he could afford to get to know his cousin as an adult. He had little enough blood family as it was, though the birth of their baby would change that next year.

A group of people wandered to the front of the stall, and Harry redirected his attention to his customers, tucking the unexpected encounter away for now. He made a mental note to find out if Dudley and Patricia drank – he'd started distilling his own apple brandy from the apple tree in the garden and last years batch had come out exceptionally well. It would make a decent Christmas present.

0o0o0o0

Having two toddlers in the house meant early mornings, and with a baby added as well, sleep ins were a thing of the past. However, today was Zoe's birthday, so Harry was doing the best he could to let her sleep. Rowan, their eldest, was currently reading a picture book, firmly ensconced in Harry's favourite armchair overlooking the vegetable patch. Willow, their middle child, was colouring in at the coffee table in the TV nook and the baby, Ash, was rolling around trying to catch his toes on the thick blanket Harry had put down for that exact purpose. Harry was sitting on the floor with the baby, admiring Willow's purple cat whenever she held it up to show her progress. She appeared to be intent on adding wings to it – Harry wasn't sure why the cat had to fly, but as long as his daughter was happy with the picture, he wasn't going to ask.

"Uncle Ben's here!" Rowan exclaimed from his chair, having a good view of the driveway from where he was sitting, and the boy wiggled down to head for the front door. Ben had been recruited by Scotland Yard not long after the death of Constable Peterson and moved to London with Lizzie, who loved living in the big city. They stayed in touch, talking to each other daily as Lizzie had adopted Harry and Zoe as much as she had Ben, and weekend visits like this one were pretty common.

Zoe came down the stairs as Ben swung Rowan up and flew him around, and Harry smiled at his wife. She was as beautiful as the day he'd met her, in his unbiased opinion, only more so.

"Happy birthday love," he said from the floor and was soundly kissed.

"Thanks for the sleep in," she grinned and hugged Willow good morning, then turned to greet their guests.

"Hullo Lizzie from London," Harry grinned as she came to say hello and tickle the baby's feet, "How was the train trip?"

"Hi Uncle Harry," Lizzie kissed his cheek and sat down beside him, "It was ok. Dad thinks he spotted a criminal."

"Always on duty Ben," Zoe laughed, and Ben huffed at them all.

"He probably wasn't a criminal, he just looked familiar in a vague sort of way. After a while though, every stranger looks familiar in a vague sort of way, so…" Ben shrugged. Zoe went to put the kettle on and Ben went to admire the purple cat, which now had orange stripes and lime green spots on its wings.

"Well we can cross artist off the list for Willow," Zoe muttered as Harry joined her in the kitchen, leaving Lizzie to sit with Ash. He laughed and shook his head, fishing ingredients out to make breakfast for her.

"She's a bit young to have a career mapped out for her, hon."

"Never too young to start, Harry," Zoe replied lightly, "And given that it's nearly lunch time, tea will do for breakfast."

"I'll get started then," Harry replied, "I know my place is in the kitchen."

"And don't you forget it," his wife informed him solemnly, then kissed him again.

"Ewwww," Rowan and Willow chorused from their respective spots in the house, which made their parents laugh.

Graeme was expected for lunch, so Harry wasn't too surprised when their Grandad came over an hour later. He was surprised that there was a man with him, a few years older than Zoe and with the same black curly hair. He was neatly dressed in leather shoes, trousers and a shirt – he'd made an effort to be presentable at least.

"Adam!" Zoe exclaimed in shock, and if Harry was any judge of her tone, with some misgiving, "This is a surprise!"

"Hullo sis, happy birthday," Adam replied. The hug that followed was a bit awkward, but Harry just shared a long look with Ben and stepped forward to be introduced. This was the person that Ben had found vaguely familiar on the train, then. Ben grinned when he was named 'brother in law' and the kids said hello to the new uncle curiously. Adam had a small birthday gift in his jacket pocket, a silver bracelet which Zoe thanked him for readily enough. The timer in the kitchen went off and Harry moved to get the lamb roast out of the oven before it got too dry.

"Grandad said you're having lunch," Adam hesitated, "I don't want to intrude, I just was going to say hello and go. If it's ok though, I'll come back and visit with you some time?"

"There's always room for one more. Harry cooks as if he's feeding an army," Zoe told her brother, "Stay for lunch."

So, Adam stayed, sitting beside Graeme with Ben on the other side, watching for the most part as the family entered into their usual lunchtime discussions. Ben shared that he was up for promotion again, and was soundly congratulated by all. Lizzie told them about the school choir performing in the London Eisteddfod. Rowan told them about the tree he and his best friend at playschool had climbed and how Timmy had ripped his shirt on a branch.

Desert was ice cream, as Zoe didn't bake on her birthday and then Willow and Rowan headed outside into the spring sunshine to show Lizzie the new treehouse Harry had built from scrap wood for them. Zoe took Ash upstairs for a nap while Harry and Ben cleaned the kitchen. They'd do presents and cake for afternoon tea, an established tradition, and in the meantime, Harry made a pot of tea for everyone to share and they all trooped out to sit in the sunshine while the children played.

Adam, it turned out, had left the commune at the age of eighteen, when he met and fell for a girl who was working at the local vet's office on her first trainee placement. She had accompanied the vet to the routine inspection of the commune's herd of goats, cows and pigs – even the commune had to show that their animals were healthy and up to date with the mandatory health measures required by the local council and Ministry of Ag. Bradley and Yolanda had tried to suggest that Adam get the young trainee, by name of Gwen, to give up her university and join the commune instead.

Adam had decided he'd rather leave the commune, and the name Starshine, behind. He followed her to Cardiff and got a job stacking shelves at ASDA. Gwen had suggested online schooling to bridge any gaps in his education and he had enrolled in some maths courses.

"I always liked math the best," Adam had shrugged at this point in his tale, "I thought that maybe I could get a job working with it in some way."

He ended up doing some accounting courses as well, and the legal side of things had been unexpectedly interesting, so he'd trained and now worked as a forensic accountant. Gwen had graduated and had been working in Cardiff as a vet full time, and they were living together. Eventually Adam had been offered a really good job in London and Gwen had been able to find a position in a well-known animal hospital as well. Adam and Zoe's parents had cut all contact by that point. The other eight half brothers and sisters had never been close to Adam, and Zephyr had left the commune when she was only sixteen without looking back at all. Zoe had never met Zephyr, the daughter her parents had to 'replace' her after leaving her with Graeme and Cecilia.

"She emails sometimes, though, she's working in Manchester, in a book shop," Adam shrugged, "She always loved to read, so as long as she's happy, yeah?"

His listeners had nodded and made agreeing noises, which seemed to satisfy him. Adam and Gwen had decided to marry recently, and it was at Gwen's suggestion that Adam was seeking them out now. He had no intention of inviting the commune family to the wedding, but wanted to get in touch with his Grandfather and Sister again, to have them at the wedding and have some contact with them once more.

"I was devastated to move away," he told Graeme, "I couldn't understand why we'd left you and Granny behind, and why Zoe wasn't with us anymore. I kept asking for you all, until they made it very clear that I was being bad and had to stop. They changed my name and we lived in this grubby place, with strangers who were a bit weird. The only good thing about it was that the local Inspector made sure that the kids at the commune went to the local school. The village kids were a bit suspicious of us, but I made a couple of friends and I think that was what really kept me grounded."

Harry could understand that – though he'd not had any real friends at primary school, he at least had the lessons and the adults to keep him steady. And Ron and Hermione had made sure he didn't get all big headed either. So, for that matter, had Draco in his own obnoxious way.

Neither Zoe or Graeme seemed ready to throw all caution to the wind and embrace Adam the forensic accountant wholeheartedly, but neither were they throwing him from the house. Adam hadn't had a choice in the matter of moving, and Graeme had raised Zoe to be fair minded and forgiving, which meant that he also had to live by that creed.

It was decided that Adam should come back one weekend that suited them with Gwen to get to know the family better and Zoe gave him the family contact details so they could stay in touch in the meantime. Harry declared it time for afternoon tea and presents, and Zoe went to fetch Ash from his nap while Graeme and Harry prepped the birthday cake and biscuits.

0o0o0o0

"What are you doing?" Harry chuckled as Zoe started rifling through his trouser pockets, "Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but I do need to get this stuff into the fridge before it melts."

"Where's your wallet? Ah ha!" Zoe fished the canvas wallet Harry had bought all those years ago from his pocket. It had been fixed with gaffer tape at one point and the Velcro no longer worked, but Harry didn't mind.

"I bought you a new wallet this morning, while you were in the butchers," Zoe informed him, "It is time to retire the wallet of shame."

Harry laughed and went back to putting away the shopping while Zoe sat at the kitchen table to empty his old wallet and transfer his cards and things to the new one. As she did, she kept up a running commentary of how many expired vouchers were in there, how many expired membership cards and…

"What is this?" she sounded genuinely startled and Harry put the packets of pasta down and went to have a look. It was a business card, with Blaketon and Associates on the front, along with their address, "Is this a handwritten business card? And who are Blaketon and Associates?"

"I'd meant to chuck that out," Harry breathed, looking at the card the Goblin had given him when he'd closed his school vault. He'd tucked it into his wallet and then forgotten it was there, "It has an appointment on the back for a date after my 25th birthday. When I was last in contact with the magical world, this was handed to me along with a bank slip and I forgot all about it."

Zoe flipped the card over to have a look. Harry was well past his 25th birthday now, and a father of four, soon to be five. Willow remained their sole daughter, though Zoe thought this baby would be a girl too. Robin had arrived on New Year's Eve in the middle of a snowstorm. Harry had delivered the baby himself in the kitchen as Zoe's labour had progressed too quickly for them to drive to the hospital. The ambulance had arrived only minutes after Robin, delayed by the severity of the storm. This baby was due at the end of Autumn and Harry had already solemnly informed his wife that his days as a midwife were over. She had informed him just as solemnly that she would also prefer a professional at the next birth thank you very much.

On the back of the card the original appointment was crossed out, and a new appointment for each of the following years had been added, then also crossed out as Harry failed to appear. He admired the spell work that had been put into the card and glanced at the date for this year's appointment. It was for a date when they would be in London, a point that was not lost on Zoe.

"How do they add appointments to the card if you've forgotten you have it?" Zoe asked, and Harry shrugged. He could think of two ways to do it, though one involved a lot of fuss and bother.

"Probably through a spell that links their appointment book to the business card. Each change to a client's entry that they make in the book is also made to the card," he mused, "That would be the easiest way to do it."

"We should accept the appointment and see what they want," Zoe looked up at him, "We'll be in London anyway for the Thing, which is the day before, then we can do this the day after. We were planning a holiday in the countryside anyway, and Grandad has the kids for that whole week."

The Thing was Zoe's upcoming appearance at Buckingham Palace, by Royal request, to receive a knighthood, or in her case, Dame Commander of the British Empire for her services to British biodiversity and conservation and preservation of the natural world. She would be joining the ranks of knights and dames in the Order of Bath, a discretionary title. It was a big deal and the entire family were desperately proud of her. Zoe was mortified that her work was being recognised in such a way and had requested that no fuss be made whatsoever. Graeme had therefore arranged to move into the house and watch the children for a week while Zoe and Harry went to London and then on to a holiday. At six months pregnant, Harry was primarily concerned with keeping Zoe happy and spoiling her as much as she allowed. Which, at the end of the day, was not much.

Zoe rummaged in the dining room table drawer, came up with a pen, and after a moment of hesitation, put a neat tick next to the most recent appointment. Harry watched as curiously as his wife to see if there was a response, and when nothing happened, she shrugged and tucked it into his new wallet.

The next day an owl arrived at breakfast time, to the delight and fascination of the children. It was a medium sized brown speckled owl, which delivered the elegant envelope clutched in its talons by swooping in through the glass doors leading to the back garden, which Harry had pushed open to take advantage of the spring sunshine.

"Owl!" Ash exclaimed, pointing while baby Robin waved his cereal laden spoon around and Rowan and Willow jumped up from their seats.

"Yes, it is," Zoe replied calmly, and guided the half empty spoon to Robin's mouth, casting a sour glance at the scattered half of the spoons contents, which had gone all over the floor, "Sit down, you two, it's for your dad."

Which went to show how much Harry had mentioned about magic in passing over their years together. Zoe was pretty unflappable when it came to unexpected little bursts of magic from the children, though the t-shirt-that-now-changed-colour was folded in the back of her drawer and had never been worn again. Harry had been given plenty of practice in reverting magical outbursts, and the children had all been taught from an early age that it was a family secret and Not To Be Mentioned in public ever. Who knew what they would do when Rowan reached the age of eleven and had to be separated from his best friend Timmy in order to attend Hogwarts. The boys were inseparable. They had some time to work on _that_ problem though.

Harry accepted the envelope, offered the owl both water and a bit of sausage from his plate (Zoe had been craving the full English Breakfast experience lately, and Harry had indulged her) and then watched it swoop back out of the window. He tucked the envelope away to read after the morning school and preschool run. Robin would be attending work with his mother this morning as she supervised the monthly account balancing and organised a reworking of several of the greenhouses in the nursery to better accommodate plants from the conservatory that was in the North of England. It was there that she did her government sponsored work on the biodiversity projects, grew saplings for the reforestation projects and had reworked her thesis into a second edition that a few of the European Universities had added to their reading lists, along with the horticulture textbook she'd written. There was also a gardening manual about to be published, aimed at the lay person. Zoe was going to finalise the details of that on the Monday before her palace appointment on Tuesday. The appointment with Blaketon and Associates was on Wednesday, and there was a tentative booking in the Bath district also on Wednesday for a four-day holiday. They'd drive home on Sunday and relieve Graeme of his grandchildren sitting duties, something he was looking forward to immensely.

Harry and Paddy had just finished a large run of commissions and Paddy was planning to spend some time with Graeme and the children as well, for a mini 'stay-cation' of his own. He was then heading off to Africa to see his son, during which time it was school holidays and Harry planned to spend most of his days with the children. Everyone would be back at school, preschool or day care by the time Zoe started her maternity leave and Harry would be working full time then. The bonus of being self-employed was that they were able to schedule around major life events, providing they were careful with their income management.

"Are you going to read your letter, Daddy?" Willow asked, which meant she wanted to know what was in the letter and was angling for information. She was a very curious child. It made Christmas an interesting challenge.

"Not at the moment, Willow," Harry replied, "I'll wait until everyone is at school."

Willow pouted for a moment, until Zoe asked if she was ready for school. They shared an amused look as the eldest two took their plates to the kitchen and Harry gave Ash his to take as well once the child was safely on the ground. Of their four, Ash was the clumsiest, but he never seemed to mind the bumps and tumbles he took, springing back up happily enough even if he had hurt himself. He was the best of the children at repair spells for precisely this reason. Harry got up and took the rest of the various breakfast things into the kitchen and started loading the dishwasher while the children got their bags, put on shoes and generally bustled about in the pre-school run mayhem they liked to call a routine. Wiping down the mess that Robin had made while Zoe took the baby upstairs to get dressed, Harry grinned at the noise and confusion. It was no worse than the first years getting ready in the first few weeks of their first term, and he enjoyed the liveliness of the house.

0o0o0o0


End file.
